


if only in my dreams

by uneventfulhouses



Category: Buzzfeed Pero Like (Webseries), Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Pining, Sharing a Bed, This is a little Hallmark Movie-ish, excessive use of the word 'soft' and 'warm'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21807736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uneventfulhouses/pseuds/uneventfulhouses
Summary: “You’re single, right?” Maya says, arms crossed underneath her chest, looking at him with a particularly pointed look. Ryan raises his eyebrows.“Are you coming onto me?” Ryan says, grinning up at her. He likes Maya, thinks she’s gorgeous; they bond over their lack of Spanish.“Sort of?” she touches her hand to her chin, biting down on her lip.“Uh?”“I got myself into a sticky situation, and I need your help to—I sort of told my family—because they’ve been pestering me for ages about how single I am—I told them I have a boyfriend and they’re expecting him to come with me to Christmas Eve, but haha, I don’t have a boyfriend, and I know it’s a big ask, like really huge, to ask you to come hang out with me on Christmas Eve, but I don’t know anyone else who would do this."or; maya and ryan fake date for christmas.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Maya Murillo
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18
Collections: RareBuzzShips Holiday Event





	if only in my dreams

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god. it's done, it's here. i really hope you enjoy it! i feel like i'm giving birth and i am so happy to finally get to share it. this is for the [rarebuzzships holiday event](https://rarebuzzships.tumblr.com/post/188819780757/celebrate-the-holidays-with-a-buzfeed-creation)! please go check that out cause FUN. shout out to all my cheerleaders. i love you.
> 
> this is wholly unbetaed, so any typos you find, i'm so sorry. this work is also packed with cheese to the brim. this is also a work of fiction, and the title comes from the gorgeous and wonderful "i'll be home for christmas"

It’s an unassuming Wednesday for Ryan. He’s wholly engrossed in the article he’s reading, a gruesome murder from somewhere in the thirties, sitting at his desk. The tap on his shoulder startles him enough that he jumps back from his screen, turning to look at the culprit.

It’s Maya. She looks frantic, eyes a little wide behind her glasses. He notes he likes the oversized hoops she’s wearing today. Her dark hair is a mass against her shoulders; it looks soft, and it’s long enough he doesn’t have to reach far to touch—

“You’re single, right?” she says, arms crossed underneath her chest, looking at him with a particularly pointed look. Ryan raises his eyebrows.

“Are you coming onto me?” Ryan says, grinning up at her. He likes Maya, thinks she’s gorgeous; they bond over their lack of Spanish.

“Sort of?” she touches her hand to her chin, biting down on her lip.

“Uh?”

“I got myself into a sticky situation, and I need your help to—I sort of told my family—because they’ve been pestering me for ages about how single I am—I told them I have a boyfriend and we’re just taking things really, _really_ slow, and—God, it’s so involved. Like, so bad. My Catholic guilt is eating me alive. They’re expecting him to come with me to Christmas Eve, but _haha_ , I don’t have a boyfriend, and I know it’s a big ask, like really huge, to ask you to come hang out with me on Christmas Eve, but I don’t know anyone else who would do this. I thought Gadiel _might_ , but he’d ruin it so fast, and I would never hear the end of it, bringing a fake boyfriend to _Christmas._ ”

It feels a little like time stops; she barely gets a breath out and Ryan can feel his eyes are wide as he stares at her. Her cheeks become progressively pinker and pinker, and she’s started to twirl her fingers in her hair and—well, it’s all kinda making him feel a little weird. Maya has always been pretty to him, but he never really considered _dating_ her. And here she is, presenting him with an opportunity to _fake date_.

This shit only happens at BuzzFeed.

“I mean, it is a big ask,” he muses. It’s Christmas—he loves Christmastime and spending it with his parents and his brother, and all the extended family that comes over for dinner on Christmas Day; he’d never miss it. “Why can’t you just tell them you guys broke up? Or, you know, the truth. Catholic guilt and all,” he says, chuckling.

She takes in a big breath. “Because...because I—because it’s been literal _years_ since I’ve been with someone, and my parents are just so happy, thinking I’m finally happy with someone. I kind of don’t want to break their hearts, you know, not before Christmas. I will literally owe you for the rest of my life, _please_ , Ryan?”

The blush on her cheeks hasn’t gone away, and her eyes are pleading. The curve of her lips entices him in a way he hadn’t considered before. And emotions are flying very fast inside of him and it’s very peculiar and Ryan doesn’t _want_ to say no, _so_ he doesn’t.

Reaching out to touch her hand, comforting her, Ryan gives her a smile. “I’ll tell my mom. But that just means I have to lie to her, too, because there’s no way she’s going to believe that I’m just hanging out with a _friend_ on _Christmas Eve_. That’s usually reserved for, like, my girlfriends. Your Catholic guilt is going to rub off on me.” He huffs a laugh and enjoys the way a smile breaks out across her face, her eyes lighting like stars. “But we can—we can pretend to break up after, right?”

“Oh yeah. After New Year’s, maybe? Like, I don’t know, we’ll work out the logistics.” She clutches his hand before letting go.

“My mom is going to want to meet you, Maya, so you’re going to have to come back to mine. That’s—that’s the condition. We go to yours on Christmas Eve, and then go to mine on Christmas Day. Deal?”

She shrieks, so loud Ryan winces, but he dissolves into laughter as Maya throws herself at him. She wraps her arms around him, and he curls his own around her waist. He notices she smells nice, fresh and floral, something gentle that reminds him of spring. Something tugs inside of him and he doesn’t know what it is but seeing her this happy just. Well. It makes him a little happy, too.

“Okay,” Maya says, pulling back. She looks down at him, eyes so bright. “You’re incredible, you know that? God, you’re amazing.”

Ryan quirks an eyebrow. “You’re gonna owe me so big, Murillo,” he teases.

“Anything you want, it’s yours. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” She turns away, and Ryan watches, his eyes tracing the curve of her waist in the crop top she’s wearing, down over her hips and her—

All too quickly, he spins back to his monitor, shaking his head.

It’s a weird fucking day.

:::

When Maya gets back to her desk, she must be radiating some kind of energy, because Curly comes bounding over, pulling up a chair to sit next to her.

“What are you so happy about?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at her.

“I can’t tell you,” she says, biting her lip. She wants to, God she wants to, but Curly tends to blow things out of proportion, and she can’t have him making a bigger deal than it actually is.

“You tell me everything. Is this about a _boy_?” he says, his grin curling lasciviously, and she hates how her emotions just splay on her face, hiding absolutely nothing. She messes with her pen cup, just for something to do.

“If I tell you, then you can’t tell anyone. _Anyone_. I will kill you,” she assures, turning to look at him. He raises his hands defensively.

“Damn, I promise, whatever. Just tell me! Who is it?”

Maya wilts against the back of her chair and tells Curly what she’s done, how despite the feelings she may (or may not) be over, she’s putting herself into a very dangerous situation with Ryan.

“Maya, oh my God, what are you doing?” he hisses at her. “Are you a fucking masochist? This is going to kill you.”

“I know, but it wasn’t like I could ask _you_ ,” she says, making a face. “And I didn’t really want to ask anyone else. I know Ryan will take this seriously, and it’ll actually work.”

“Why did you lie to your parents? You’re an adult, just tell them he’s not coming.”

“ _Because_ ,” Maya whines. “You don’t know how happy they looked. It was an accident, and I just blurted it out, and—and they’re happy for me. I want to keep it that way. Besides, it’s Christmas.”

“ _Loca_ _linda_ , you’re gonna fall in love with him _again_ and when this is over, it’s going to feel like a real break up because it will feel like one to you. Maya—just take Gadiel. Or Eli, he’s cute.”

“Gadiel will ruin it. They’ll take one look at him and know. And I don’t know Eli enough to say, _hey, wanna be my fake boyfriend_?”

Curly sighs. “Girl. I hope you know what you’re doing, because it seems a lot like you don’t.”

“It’ll be fine,” Maya says, waving her hand. “I’ll be fine.”

Heaving another sigh, Curly gets up and walks away, and Maya turns to her computer, and tries to pretend Curly’s wrong about all this. She knows what she’s doing. She knows it’s not real. Besides, it’s just for two days. It’s not even that big of a deal.

Maya turns back to her computer, opening up an assignment and begins working. Her mind wanders over thoughts of Ryan, how this will play out just the way she expects, with them growing closer as friends, and they’ll come back to LA and nothing will be different. She’s counting on it. Sure, she’s had… _feelings_ for Ryan, a crush, if it can even be called that. And maybe Curly has some reasoning; this could be catastrophic to her, if only because she’s feeding into that desire to date him or be with him.

It could work, though. It could work the way she wants it to, and they’ll pretend break up for her parents. She’s just spending Christmas with her friend. It could work, and that’s all she’s hoping for. 

:::

Ryan makes his way down to Maya’s floor. He doesn’t go down there much, not without reason. But he finds her, sitting at her station, typing furiously as he walks up and leans against her desk.

“Do you maybe want to come take a walk with me?” he asks her, crossing his arms over his chest. She looks up at him, eyebrows raised. “I just want to figure a few things out. Cause if we’re doing this, it’s gotta look real,” he reasons.

Maya chews on her bottom lip, and Ryan’s eyes zero in on the action. He nods his head towards the elevator, and she gets up and follows. 

Outside, it’s beautiful, sunny; it’s cool, but not uncomfortable. They fall into an easy pace, walking around the building. He’s chill beside her, analytical, like he’s planning an episode of Unsolved.

“So, we’re coming out to the office? I thought it would just be for our parents,” she says. She’s wearing a muted lipstick today, and he misses the red, knowing she wears it occasionally. He doesn’t know why that’s a thought he has, but he can’t help it. And that’ll be analyzed, oh so heavily later, but for right now, he settles for the warm brown of her eyes.

“I mean—why not go all out? It’s a little bit fun. Pretending,” he says. So, he takes her hand; her nails are long, fingernails painted a sharp white, a stark contrast against the tone of his skin.

Ryan doesn’t like doing things half ass is the thing, and he likes Maya enough that forming this bond wouldn’t hurt in the long run—he’d get a badass friend out of it. And his mom likes to see him happy, which means they need photos, moments, things that make it seems like they’re actually dating.

So, he tells her that.

“Oh, I guess I didn’t think of it like that. My mom’s gonna want that, too. It would be kind of weird to be dating for—how long should we even say?”

Ryan hums. “Two months? That’s enough to make it serious-ish. Christmas-serious.”

Her grin is wide. “That’s good, so good.” She flips her hair with her auxiliary hand, and he takes in the expanse of her throat, her collarbones where her tank top doesn’t cover.

He is but a human male.

“I guess we should take a photo now. I mean, we should probably start collecting them like Pokémon,” she says.

Ryan laughs. “Yeah, that’s good. I can edit some of them with backdated Instagram dates and shit later. Come here.” He digs his phone out of his back pocket, navigating to Instagram, switching the accounts to his personal-personal. Where it’s close friends and family members. She gets in close and he takes the photo.

“Wait, no, again,” she says, snatching his phone. “You didn’t actually think that was a good photo, did you?” she says, making a wildly judgmental face at him.

Ryan feels deflated, a little defensive. “I thought you looked cute,” he says. “I look fine.”

She laughs, but there’s no humor. “Clearly, I’ll be taking photos from here on out,” she mutters.

He’s—overcome? There’s something in his chest that feels good, humored, raw and warm and safe and real and—

Oh. He’s _attracted_ to her.

“Stand here,” she commands, and he does, and then she’s crowded into his space, her head on his shoulder. The angle is from high up, and he can smell her perfume, soft and floral, and then she says, “ _Smile_ , at least pretend you like me, _God_.”

But she’s laughing, laughing like it’s obvious he _likes_ her. And he doesn’t know what to do, so he does smile, digs deep and reaches into college confidence, and she clicks—

“Yeah,” she says. “That’s good. _Oh_ , that’s good.”

He feels self-satisfied, and she messes with the photo; he leans in close so he can watch her slide filters over it, over and over until she leaves it without a filter at all, putting a little Instagram-notification-heart over her head.

“Cause you would,” she explains, but he thinks it’s just cause she likes the way she looks. But he would.

“I would,” he agrees, and his face feels warm, like he’s blushing.

“Posted,” she sing-songs. “Wow, this is—like a thing.”

“A whole thing,” he says.

“And you’re sure you’re okay? Like you’re sure you want to do this?”

He snatches his phone back from her, and deadpan looks at her. “ _Yes_. I wouldn’t have let you post a cutesy photo of us together insinuating that we’re clearly into each other if I didn’t want to. Maya—I promise it’s fine. If at any point it isn’t, I promise I’ll let you know.”

She seems content with that, like she needed to hear it and he just looks at her; the gentle blush of her cheeks, the sharp point of her eyeliner, the mass of her hair around her shoulders; really looks at her and oh, yeah, he’s attracted as _fuck_.

That’s how it usually happens with Ryan; he sees someone, and it’s like a light switch. A split decision. He either likes someone or he doesn’t. And Maya?

The details are foggy, but not so much he can’t see the lines on the road.

They talk as he walks her up to her floor, but he doesn’t go back to his. He parks himself in a breakroom, pulling up his Instagram, his story. His phone is buzzing with questions, ones he doesn’t want to answer right now because—he hadn’t thought this completely through. He’d never contemplated the particular scenario where he would develop a romantic liking to her. He said yes, because they were friends.

But now that he’s in this, and they’re close to each other, and he knows what her perfume smells like, or how her hair feels, tickling his face—

Sometimes he hates the way his mind works, how easy it is for him to just latch onto people.

:::

Over and over and over again; Maya clicks Ryan’s Instagram story, wonders about the comments he’s received, wonders who’s seen it. And it’s clear that Curly has, because he’s at her side before she’s sitting at her desk.

“Oh my god, Maya, you fucking—” Curly is looking at her, awed, but clearly displeased.

“We’re cute, huh?” she says, and he shakes his head, sitting at the empty chair next to hers.

“This is either going to end up with the two of you broken on bathroom floors or stupidly in love. I’ve yet to place my bets.”

Maya cackles. “It’s neither. We’ll be B-F-Fs and the world will go on.”

Curly gasps. “ _Maya_. It’s like you’ve never seen a movie in your life.”

She ignores him, looking at the picture on her phone again. She shares it to her own personal-personal account, tagging Ryan. She adds a little heart emoji afterwards—the one with the arrow piercing through. She admires it for just a little longer, taking in his smile, the laziness of his eyes.

“You’re an idiot,” Curly breathes beside her, looking over her shoulder.

“I’m just—doing what we planned,” she reasons. “And he’s into it. Doesn’t mind at all.”

“HR is gonna ream both of your asses,” Curly says, rolling his eyes. “I can’t lie though, I’m fucking _living_ for the drama.”

She sucks her teeth. “Shut up,” she says, but she’s content, because she’s having fun.

And Ryan’s never really been on her floor this much, but he’s up here again, standing behind her.

“You shared it,” he says, looking a little dazed. And she convinces herself that her eyes are playing tricks on her, because—no. She can’t let those old feelings come catapulting out of her like this.

“ _Oh_ , _Dios mio_ ,” Curly says. “Bathroom floors, for sure.”

“Go. Away.” Maya says, and Curly leaves, cackling to himself. Ryan takes his seat.

“Uh?” Ryan says.

Maya bites her lip. “I told Curly. But you know he’s good for secrets,” she rushes to explain. Ryan laughs, though, which eases her anxiety.

“He’s the office vault. He knows things about me that _I_ don’t even know.”

“Have you told anyone?” she wonders.

Ryan shakes his head. “No, not yet at least. But it makes sense that Curly knows.”

Maya smiles. “This is fun,” she says.

“It is. It’s nice not to be alone, you know? I have _friends_ , but it’s always nice to have someone a little above that.”

May smiles at him, feeling warm in her chest. “Yeah, I know what you mean. And you _never_ come up here. Are you gonna quit _Unsolved_ and come learn Spanish with me?” she teases.

“As if. You should just come join _us_. Afterall, you are our biggest fan.” He grins, smile beaming. The way Ryan’s eyes shine when he says so makes Maya’s stomach flip. She’s made it known to anyone who would _listen_ that she loves _Unsolved_ more than most things.

“Yeah. _Yeah_ ,” she says. “You don’t have any female representation. Girls like to make dick jokes too.”

“Haha—” he says, void of humor. He shakes his head. “Our dick jokes are _funny_. Girls’ dick jokes are _scathing_.”

“True. Maybe we can do a combined episode. _Unsolved_ , but Gadiel narrates in Spanish.”

Ryan laughs. “That’s not half bad. Ask him if he’s into it. I’m thinking it could be a good bonus ep.”

Maya, again (or maybe she just hasn’t stopped), feels that heat underneath her heart, curling like tender tendrils around her arteries.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” he says, touching his hand lightly to her shoulder. She nods and gives him a little wave.

And then he’s gone, and Maya’s fucked, and, _listen_ , sometimes she has good ideas, and sometimes her ideas aren’t the greatest. And this idea, fake-dating Ryan, like Curly said, will probably fall on either extreme of the spectrum.

She really hopes it’s not bathroom floors.

:::

They can be considered friends, Ryan and Maya. He liked her before, but now, it’s like he’s realized something, and now that he has a reason to talk her, her does, and they keep up a conversation and he can’t really stop. His phone is constantly buzzing with messages from her, and he responds, probably much too quickly, but she’s funny, _adorable_ , sayings things without thinking sometimes but she’s honest. He likes that she’s shy, but she’s got _something_ , and Ryan doesn’t know what it is, but God, he likes it.

Pacing around at home, his phone in his hand, he’s flitting from his bedroom to the living room, doubling back to the bathroom and then the living room again, before ending up in the kitchen.

Their thread is quiet, and rather than just wait for her, he bites the bullet and sends text. Because they technically still have work to do.

_Hey gf_

_Want tacos? We should probably  
talk some things out._

_Work out a story._

_BF!!_

_It should technically be my treat since_   
_I roped you into this._

_Nice. I’ll meet you there. An hour?_

_Sounds good! See you soon!_

They find a table, order food and drinks, and they talk.

And then—they just don’t stop talking.

They stay at the Mexican place for two and a half hours, laughing at themselves at being Mexicans with horrible Spanish.

They curate an airtight story with easy answers, enough room to elaborate something if needed. And they naturally move the conversation to different things. Work, pets, movies and music and—and he likes hearing her laugh, so he tells jokes, and she looks at him with kind, tender brown eyes, and Ryan pretends it doesn’t feel like a date, but God, it does. Ridiculous almost, but he makes a joke about that, too.

“Good practice,” he says.

“What?”

“This,” he says. “We’re basically on a date.”

Maya looks surprised and then she laughs. “Yeah, I guess we are. I’m—I’m really sorry for roping you into this. I promise, anything you want, it’s yours. You’re literally saving my ass.”

The thing is, he’s seen Maya a hundred million times, but tonight, her hair is messy, and she’s got on these oversized wire framed glasses and her eyes are all done up, and her lips are red, red, red. And she’s wearing those hoop earrings he’s starting to love.

She just—she’s gorgeous and Ryan doesn’t really know what to do with that.

“You look really nice, tonight,” Ryan says, leaning back against the booth, his hand around the glass of his drink.

Maya eyes him, hesitant all the sudden, but she looks out of the window, and says, “Thanks.”

“We should probably give our table up, though,” he says after a beat, feeling a little like he’s made things awkward.

“You’re right. We got a lot of work done!” She stands from the booth and he follows her, chuckling. She leaves cash on the table for their bill (her treat, she _insisted_ ), and heads towards the door. Outside, the air is cool; the wind blows and catches Maya’s hair, the length of her throat displayed, her collar; it’s a nice moment he captures with his mind, a mental polaroid he tucks away.

“I’m—I’m glad you asked me. I don’t know if I was a last resort or anything—” He stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Ryan, please,” she says. “You were probably the only person I could think of. It’s fun.”

“Right?”

They start towards her car, walking close, an easy, unrushed pace. It’s not by any means a far walk, but they stand on the sidewalk.

“Who knew you were so cool?” Her tone is teasing, and her hand brushes against his bicep and God, he doesn’t feel cool at all, trying to work out through his feelings, this rush of affection for a person that was just his _friend_ last week. But now, because it had felt like a date, he kind of wants to crowd up into her space, kiss her, like he does on a real date.

He doesn’t think about the way her fingers sort of _stay_ on his arm.

“I’m the coolest around,” he says, and he wins her laughter and he’s very, very warm.

“I’ll text you when I’m home, okay?” she says. She rescinds her hand and he watches as she leaves, and then goes back to his own car.

When he gets home, twenty minutes later, there’s a text from Maya.

_Attachment: 1 image_

Ryan opens it and he grins.

The photo: she’s taken all her make up off, hair in a towel. She’s making a silly face, eyes crossed, holding up a peace sign, and he laughs.

 _Laughs_. Because he’s endeared.

And—and there’s something deeply satisfying that she’s gorgeous when she’s barefaced too, nose shiny and eyes clear. It’s different; a glimpse of her _otherwise_.

And Ryan’s very confused, because he knows now he shouldn’t have said yes to her. Because the thing is, Ryan likes being in relationships. Ryan likes being in love and talking to his girl, witty banter and silly flirting, and he and Maya are just friends, he’s just doing her a favor, but he wants it to _not_ be a favor. He wants it to be _genuine_.

If Maya had any interest in him, surely, she would have just said something, asked him out for real instead of putting together some silly elaborate lie.

Right?

Either way, it’s well past midnight, and he can’t sleep.

He’s tired; his insomnia comes in bouts, and he hates when it attacks him like this, but his brain won’t shut off. He’s just—

Well, he’s got Maya on his mind; and maybe she’s awake, because all he wants to do is continue talking to her. So, he thinks over starters, something to send her. And because it’s almost Christmas, he thinks about snow.

_Have you ever seen snow?_

_Nope! It would be nice, to have a snowy_   
_Christmas, though._

_Where would you go?_

_New York, probably. Times Square. And_   
_stay for New Year’s._

It’s a sweet thought; he inserts himself into her fantasy, so in his mind, he’s standing next to her during the ball drop, kissing her when the clock changes, like some ridiculous scene in a movie.

_Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?_

_I should say the same for myself LOL_

_I can’t really._

He doesn’t mean to be so honest, but well, it’s the truth. She doesn’t really have to know the reason behind it, but—

_I can sing you to sleep._

_Kidding._

_Unless?_

Ryan can’t help but laugh, a little bit. He watches the bubbles on her side of the screen rise and fall, but a message doesn’t come through.

_I think I’d like that._

_Really?_

_If I remember correctly, you  
have a_ _nice voice._

_I’ll take all the help I can get._

_What’s your favorite Christmas_   
_song?_

He thinks about it for a second, figures it’s probably as basic as “Jingle Bells”, but he chooses differently.

_I’ll be home for Christmas._

_Goooooooooooood choice._

And then the conversation lulls, and after a handful of minutes, a message buzzes through.

_Attachment: 1 voice memo_

Ryan doesn’t hesitate to click it.

It’s a minute and seventeen seconds long; there’s just the tiniest hint of a shuffle, and Maya’s voice begins. And she’s actually singing. He half-expects it to be some silly rendition, but it’s just like he hears it on the radio; the sweet gentle tone of her voice. He closes his eyes and listens to her, each sharp and shaky inhale of her breath, the pauses between bars, the way her voice curls around the lyrics.

It does the exact opposite of lull him to sleep; his heart flutters and runs in his chest. At the end, there’s a pause and then: “ _Goodnight, Ryan.”_ He hears her shuffle again, and the recording stops and it’s stark quiet in his bedroom.

So, he saves the recording. He saves the recording and plays it, over and over again, setting the track to repeat until it’s the white noise he needs to finally sleep.

:::

On her way into work, Maya stops at Starbucks, like she usually does, and orders herself a white chocolate mocha, like she usually does, and then she orders Ryan a cup. Because—she knows he’ll be tired is all.

He’s sitting at his desk, which is on a completely different floor, so delivering the coffee is a little out of her way. But she finds him there, already plugged into his computer, face too close to the screen. He must be really tired because he’s wearing his glasses, which is a _scene_ , a _thing_ for her, but she doesn’t let herself dwell on it for too long.

There’s a flip in her stomach as she sets the cup down just next to where his hand rests on the mouse. He looks up at her, eyes so soft as he tugs off his headphones.

“Good morning,” she says. “I just thought you might need the extra caffeine since you couldn’t sleep.”

His smile is wide but tired. “You’re a life saver, did you know that?” He doesn’t hesitate to drink from it, and Maya lingers, tries to think of something to say, but he beats her to it. “It worked, you know.”

“What?”

“Your song. I was out like a light,” he confesses, chuckling a little. “Thank you.”

“I—yeah, of course. I charge by the song,” she teases. “First one’s on the house, though.”

He laughs again. “I’d pay millions if that’s what it took.” He pauses and her heart lurches into a reckless, running rhythm. “Can I get you lunch, though? To pay you back for the coffee, and the song—I’m starting to feel like a bad boyfriend.”

And now she’s laughing, her face heating up a little. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice. One?”

He nods, and she chalks it up to him being sleep deprived when he takes her hand and squeezes it before letting go.

She turns and walks away, heading back down to her own floor, to her desk. Gadiel is sitting opposite her.

“ _Mira que bella_ ,” he says. “You dressed up for something?”

She balks. “I look like this every day,” she says. But if she’d took a little extra time picking out her outfit and doing her makeup and straightening her hair—well, that was her business.

“Damn, okay,” he mutters, raising his hands like he means no harm. Maya waves him off and logs into her computer, flickering through emails, eyes flitting to the clock much too often to actually allow time to pass.

It doesn’t seem to matter, because her phone buzzes with a text from Ryan, which means she doesn’t actually get any work done throughout the morning because it’s a constant back and forth. She tries, scraping through content, printing emails, organizing thoughts, but she responds to the buzz quickly, sending back her own responses, snickering so much Gadiel admonishes her for being way too chipper for the time of day.

One o’ clock arrives quickly enough, and Ryan shows up at her desk, just a few minutes after as she’s gathering her things. She pretends not to notice the way Gadiel _stares_.

“Ready to go?” he asks her.

“Yeah. Did you have something in mind?”

“I thought I’d let you choose. Otherwise it’s Chipotle,” he says, grinning at her.

“I could go for a burrito,” she says. She glances at Gadiel and then looks back to Ryan. He holds his hand out.

 _Oh_ , so they’re really doing this. There’s a mischievous gleam in Ryan’s eyes as she takes it, and they start walking towards the elevator. And when she looks back at Gadiel, his eyes are wide.

She snickers, and Ryan looks behind her to see, and then he’s laughing quietly, too. Her phone buzzes in her back pocket, but she elects to ignore it.

They find a table at Chipotle, eating quietly until Ryan says, “So what’s the plan? What time do we have to be at your parents?”

Maya shrugs. “I was already planning to be there by noon. At least now I don’t have to drive by myself.”

“Where do they live?”

“Phoenix.”

“ _Arizona?_ ”

Maya deadpans him. “No, Australia.”

“I—I thought they were local,” he says. “How long a drive is that?”

“A little over five hours. Are you having second thoughts now?” she asks.

He seems to ignore her question. “So, I’ll pick you up at five—that doesn’t plan for traffic, but it’s early enough that we might get lucky. _And_ we’ll have time to get breakfast on the way in.”

He’s methodical, logical; she likes that, because for the most part, once the essentials are pinned down, she leaves the rest up to life.

“Yeah, that should work,” he says, smiling at her. “Does that work for you?”

“Yeah,” she confirms, even though she had planned to leave at seven, leaving no margin for error. “Just don’t expect me to be fully coherent. I’m barely a person when I first wake up.”

He grins. “Well, I’m driving, so you can just sleep in the car if you want.”

And that’s such a sweet statement, Maya almost chokes on her soda. “No way, I’ll at least keep you company. That—I—you wouldn’t have to be driving at five in the morning if it wasn’t for me, anyway.”

“True, but offer’s on the table.”

They finish their lunch, armed with a plan, smiling at each other over the console when they get back to the car.

:::

They leave in two days. And Ryan's, like, feeling the way he usually feels when he’s a little bit into a girl and the relationship is new and all he does is want to talk to her. Except, you know, the gleaming obvious. 

They’ve been texting enough that Shane starts to get snoopy, looking over his shoulder.

“ _Who_ are you talking to?” he’d asked, and Ryan shrugs his shoulder.

“Maya.”

“Murillo?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, grinning down at his phone as it floods with another handful of messages, because she texts just like he does in multiples, rather than in one single message.

“Oh…kay.”

Ryan can feel Shane’s eyes on him, so he looks over at him, quirking an eyebrow. “What?”

Shane shakes his lips. “Nothing. I just—I didn’t know you liked her, is all.” And then Shane goes back to his work and Ryan doesn’t correct Shane.

Mostly because Ryan hadn’t known he’d liked her either, but he does now, and it wasn’t supposed to be like that.

“I saw your story,” Shane says. “I just thought it was—you know—a friend thing.”

Ryan makes a noncommittal noise, biting down on his lip.

Curly knows, and Ryan thinks that’s enough, even though Shane’s eyeing him like he knows something is off. And Ryan _should_ tell Shane, just so he has someone to talk about it.

“How did it happen? I’ve never seen you guys talk outside of friend circles,” Shane says. His face is cool, void of any emotion that might portray what he’s thinking which is frustrating for Ryan.

“Uh?”

They have a story—he could just repeat it to Shane, how they’d stayed late one night cutting video content, and just—he’d asked her out. Which is plausible, which works, which is how most of the relationships in the office begin. But he wants to tell Shane, because Shane’s his best friend—why wouldn’t he share the truth?

Because he somehow has found a way to be infatuated with a woman he was, in fact, not supposed to be infatuated with, because this was _fake_.

Honestly, what has he gotten himself into?

So, he tells Shane the make-believe story instead of the truth. And Shane takes it without question.

“I guess that makes sense. She’s pretty—you guys look good together,” Shane compliments, and Ryan feels too warm for words. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

Ryan shrugs. “Because things always happen too fast, I guess. We wanted to make sure things would go well before we started announcing things. We were just _talking_ before, and now—I guess it’s a little more serious.”

Shane hums. “You must like her a lot to take that kind of precaution.”

“Enough to take her home for Christmas,” Ryan jokes.

Shane turns his full body to Ryan, eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Really, really.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus, Ryan, I wish I’d known before. Sara’s going to be pissed we’ve missed the opportunity for double dates. I think Maya and Sara would get along swimmingly.”

They would, is the thing. From opposite sides of BuzzFeed sure, but they have personalities that Ryan is convinced would click too well, at the expense of Ryan and Shane. And it seems Shane realizes the same.

“They’d tear us apart,” Shane says and Ryan laughs.

“Straight up murked.”

They dissolve into laughter for a handful of moments before Shane looks at him, those fond eyes he’s so used to. “I’m happy for you, man. I hope Christmas goes well. You gonna meet her parents, then?”

“Uh, yeah,” Ryan says. “We’re actually driving to Phoenix on Christmas Eve, and then back to LA Christmas morning.”

“Poor planning,” Shane mutters. “That’s like six hours.”

Ryan shrugs. “It’s what she wants.”

Shane’s smile is soft. “Classic Bergara.”

They eventually get back to work, and Ryan doesn’t feel as guilty as he’d thought for lying about the actual state of his and Maya’s relationship. But he should be nominated for an Oscar at some point, because that performance was epic.

:::

_What did you get me for Christmas?_

_Huh?_

_You know, a Christmas gift?_

_For your GF??_

Maya figures they ought to have something, at one of the houses to open.

_I didn’t think about it._

_Mall?_

_On my way!_

It’s a half an hour before she sees Ryan. He finds her in the middle of Target, somewhere in the section for Christmas decorations.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. I don’t know how I didn’t think of that. It’s _Christmas_ ,” he laments, shaking his head. He hands her a smoothie, tasting mango when she sips.

“It’s okay! I just thought it would be nice to do. Why don’t we set a limit and then get something and report back? Or should we get them together?”

Ryan makes a face. “I think I’d want it to be a surprise.”

“I like the way you think, Bergara. Meet back in an hour? Think that’s enough time?” she asks him, sipping from her smoothie again. She could get used to this, she thinks, walking around Target with Ryan and his handsome ass getting her smoothies like she’s his actual girlfriend.

“I think so. I guess we’ll see. It’s a little like a game, honestly,” Ryan says, with that competitive twinkle in his eye. She ignores the way it makes her feel, pretends it doesn’t make her belly swoop a little bit.

“You’re too much,” she says, shaking her head. And then, “Ready, set, go!” as she shuffles away from him, his laughter fading behind her.

In the middle of the mall, she finds herself wondering, “What the heck does Ryan Bergara like?”

She has to take a minute to really think. He likes ghosts. Well, no, technically he hates them. Basketball! He loves that! And…?

She’s faced with how little she knows about him.

He has puppies. He _loves_ dogs. And popcorn. He loves film, he’s a self-proclaimed cinephile. And Mexican food. He loves burritos.

None of that necessarily translates into something she can get him for a gift, though. He’s got it so easy. Get a girl something shiny and she’s sold.

In any case, she figures something basketball related would make him swoon. And maybe something else. But she doesn’t know what.

She wanders through stores, looking for inspiration. And as a BuzzFeed employee, she is not shy about going up to people and asking, _what should I get my boyfriend for Christmas_?

No one really helps her, so she sets out on her own, finding a sports store with racks of jerseys. They’re pretty pricey, but she finds one with the number “23” on it, and she knows he’ll like it. It’s only a few bucks more than the limit, and she tacks on a sleek black iPhone case cause the one he has is in tatters.

Boom, she’s done, and it’s only been thirty minutes; she wanders some more, gets herself a few things, and then heads back to Target, where Ryan is waiting for her, looking up at Christmas trees. She’s surprised, and he’s got a few bags; Target, Old Navy, Macy’s. She wonders which is hers.

“What did you get me?” she asks outright, leaning in to look into his bags. He snatches them away from her, but he’s grinning, and she notices there’s a faint flush that dusts his cheeks.

“You’ll find out on Christmas, Murillo.”

She pretends to pout, and it makes him laugh. “Technically Christmas Eve. We don’t wait 'til Christmas.”

“Either way,” he says, waving his hand. “You’re gonna have to wait for it. I think you’ll like it.” His smile is so, so soft, and Maya feels her heart soar in her chest. He’s going to ruin her.

:::

In the living room, Ryan’s scraping together a story, a true crime episode, but he can’t really concentrate. Ryan stares at his laptop, blinking, his document blank even though he’s been sitting there for a few hours.

His phone starts buzzing against his thigh, and when he looks down, he sees Maya’s name brandished on his screen; her contact photo is old, but it’s something from her Instagram he remembers screenshotting.

He answers and doesn’t even say hello before she’s bursting.

“They’re gonna know. Ryan, they’re going to _know_.”

“Hey, hey,” he says, shifting his laptop off his knees to rest on the couch cushions. “Relax. It’ll be fine. They won’t know at all. We can pull this off.”

“Ryan—God, I’m—why did you even say yes?” she says, laughing. “This is actually the most ridiculous thing.”

Ryan wheezes. “Because you needed my help. And friends help friends…do whatever it is we’re doing.”

He can hear Maya’s giggle on the other end, and she falls quiet. “I’m just nervous, I guess. Cause—I mean, we’re gonna have to be close and touch and _kiss_ —I’m literally just realizing that right now, oh God. Ryan—”

“I know that, Maya,” he says. “You’re gonna get the whole Bergara treatment.”

“We really don’t have to do this,” she says. “I’ll call my mom and tell her I made you up.”

“Hey! I’m real,” he says, snickering.

“Not real you, boyfriend you.”

“I’m gonna be the best damn boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“That would make you the only one.” There’s a pause, from her and himself. “Yikes!”

“Wait, you’ve never had a boyfriend?” Ryan asks, bewildered.

“Not in—like, I mean I’ve _dated_. But like long term? Not really, no.”

“Oh.”

“I just don’t really—I don’t really meet people. And when I do, I just close myself off, and things just don’t work out.”

“Oh,” Ryan repeats, because he doesn’t know what to say.

“…Yeah. And now this is awkward!”

“It’s not, stop,” he says, staring at the ceiling. “I’m just—like, any guy would be lucky? You’re hilarious, and intelligent, and you’re clearly beautiful.”

“Ooh, tell me more,” she says, her voice playful, and Ryan knows this is dangerous territory. He knows he should back out right now, because it’s a trap.

He’s going to trap himself, and fall in love and she’s not into him, so he’s only setting himself up to fail.

But he laughs instead, he laughs and just tells her, “It’ll work out. We’ll figure it out.”

“Have I told you how amazing you are?”

Ryan huffs another laugh, letting his eyes closed. “Once or twice,” he jokes. “Listen, though. You’re a really good person. Like, really. And maybe one of these days, we’ll go out, I’ll be your wingman, and you’ll have your choice of the lot.” It’s not at all what he wants. God, fuck no. but he can’t exactly say, _hey, why don’t we just_ actually _date instead of pretending to?_

He laugh is soft, and it makes his skin warm. “You’re too much. I gotta go, but I’ll see you in the morning, right?”

“Yeah. Bright and early.”

“Thank you.” She pauses. “For this and the talk and—just being you. You’re a cool kid, Bergara.”

“Back at you, Murillo.”

He clicks off, staring at the ceiling again, whispering a soft _fuck_ before getting up from the couch, giving up on his work and going to bed since he has to be up monstrously early.

:::

It’s way, way too early, but Maya's up and she’s ready, her bag over her shoulder. She’s outside waiting for Ryan, coffee in her hands as she waits.

This is going to be a mess, and she’s nervous, but she’s excited. She realizes she’s never really spent time like this with Ryan, this close, one on one. And when he pulls up to the curb, she dies a little inside because he looks warm in his sweatshirt, glasses on, which is a rarity, but she likes them, probably a little too much. His eyes look sleepy, but when they look at her, she _thinks_ she sees a spark of something, but definitely does not read into it.

They have five hours to drive; she’s not trying to torture herself here.

“Morning,” he says, voice soft, and maybe it’s just going to be the longest five hours of her life.

“Morning!” she says, probably way too much for the time, but his smile says otherwise. When she clicks on her seatbelt, Ryan pulls away and she won’t comment on the way he drives, she just won’t because it’s a little too much for her right now at five in the morning.

“Sleep okay?” he asks. Maya digs her phone out and shrugs.

“I feel like I’m running on fumes T-B-H. You talked me down off the ledge, but I’m still worried.”

“It’ll be fine, babe,” Ryan says.

She looks at him. “Is that a thing we’re doing, _babe_?” she asks, and she can feel the surprise on her face. He grins and Maya bites her lip.

“Well—I mean, it was an accident, but may as well. You’re my girlfriend for the foreseeable future.”

Maya hums. “You’re gonna get used to it,” she says, laughing. “I’m gonna just become _babe_ , and I’ll have to legally change my name.” 

Ryan laughs, but he doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes on the road. Maya fiddles with the stereo. A podcast starts to play, and it sounds interesting enough, so she just lets it play and Ryan doesn’t say anything, so they’re quiet and Maya thinks that’s exactly what she needs.

:::

Ryan fucks up and calls her babe.

He plays it off, so glad for quick thinking, but god, the look on her face. He’s going to go nuts, and it’s only going to be two days, but she’s right. He’s going to get used to calling her babe, and he’ll slip up and it’s gonna get weird. He’s worried their friendship won’t survive, if he keeps messing up.

It’s been a couple hours, and they’ve stopped for breakfast and things have seemingly gone back to normal. But it’s like there’s a weird bubble around them, because ever since he’d called her babe in the car, something seemed to shift.

There was no one around, no one they had to pretend for, but they stood close in the line as they waited to be seated for breakfast. Maya had taken his hand at the table and told him she could read palms, traced the lines on his flesh and told him straight up bullshit that made him laugh. And while Ryan had filled up for gas, Maya came back, hips swaying, with two cups of coffee. And—okay, it was all stuff that could be considered friendly, things that friends did for each other, but he just saw it differently, how Maya had leaned against his shoulder at the diner, how gentle her fingers had been against his palm, the gorgeous smile she gave him as her hips swayed walking towards the car with coffee in her hands.

He was—so into her it was literally killing him. He couldn’t just blur the lines. There was still a friendship to preserve. So, he did his best, at least until they got to Maya’s parent’s house and Maya stalled getting out the of the car.

The house was nice, small, but cozy looking.

“I can’t believe I’m making you do this,” she mutters, leaning her head against the headrest. She looks over at him, barely any makeup, and her hair soft around her shoulders, biting down on her lip and—Ryan was gone for it, honestly. He didn’t know if he was going to make it through this, but he knew he didn’t have to pretend.

“You’re not. I want to. Now let’s go inside and fuckin kill it,” he says, and he takes her hand in his. “I’m right here, okay? I’ve got you.”

Her eyes dip, breaking their shared gazed and Ryan just squeezes her fingers.

“Who even are you?” she asks, looking at him, like she’s confused.

“I’m just me,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Come on.”

He gets out and grabs her things from the backseat, and Maya walks in front of them, bouncing up the stairs. Ryan chuckles to himself.

“Mami!” she says, just bounding inside, and Ryan, because he doesn’t know what else do, just follows her.

It’s just after eleven in the morning, and he’s exhausted, but he’s buzzing with excitement.

“Maya, _mija_!” He can hear them in the other room as he sets their things down by the door. He steps in further, and Maya’s there, with sparkling eyes, smiling wide, and reaching out to take his hand. He lets her. He feels like that’s going to be a recurring theme, just _letting_ her. Take his hand. (Take his heart.) Just tug him along on this adventure.

Just behind Maya is her mother, and Maya looks like her, in her cheeks, her eyes.

“Mami, this is Ryan, Ryan this is my mom.”

Ryan, because he’s a nice boy, reaches out his hand to shake Mrs. Murillo’s hand, but Mrs. Murillo just reaches in for a hug instead, which is very much like his own family.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ryan says.

“It’s good to meet you, too! We were beginning to think you weren’t real.” She’s clearly teasing, but Maya makes a face behind her mom, rolling her eyes a little and Ryan huffs a laugh.

“I’m real, I promise,” he says, and he’s looking at Maya when he does, and the blush the fills her cheeks is a lot for Ryan, so he just looks away from her.

“Where’s Papi?” Maya says, coming around and taking Ryan’s hand again.

“He’s picking your brother up from the airport. Why don’t you guys go put your stuff away and take a nap. You look tired.”

“It was a long drive, but it was good,” Ryan assures. “Do you need help with anything?”

Maya groans. “Babe, quit sucking up to my mom, she already likes you,” she says, yanking on his arm. Ryan laughs and so does her mother, and then he’s being lead down a hallway, lugging their things down with them.

Maya’s room is; well, it looks like an explosion of her desk. There’s posters of boybands and girlbands, a Mexican flag in the cup that holds her makeup brushes. Her bedspread is baby blue, and she’s watching him so carefully he feels like he might explode.

“You can’t laugh at anything in here,” she says pointedly. Her lips twisted in some soft sweet little smile. “I’m tired, and Mami literally gave us permission to nap, so we should.”

She bounces down on her bed, on her stomach, not at all in the middle but definitely to the side, like she’s making space for him. He watches her close her eyes, and he feels rooted in place. He looks at her, feels like he has a moment to, and he thinks he would die for those hips. He’s certain he would. She’s got a lovely body, Ryan thinks, a lot of curves he wish he could trace with his hands, the taper of her waist, the swell of her ass.

“Come on, Ryan. Just pretend I’m Shane and snuggle up.” She seems self-satisfied, snorting into the bedspread and Ryan can’t help but laugh, too, shaking himself from his more-than-friendly thoughts of his _friend_.

He kicks off his shoes, and climbs into bed, mirroring her position, lying on his stomach. He looks at her face now, her eyebrows, and the flutter of her eyelashes, and the smile she wears curved on her lips. He reaches his hand out, tugs on her glasses, taking off his own, and setting them on the desk just within reach of his side of the bed. When he turns to lay back down, she’s watching him now, and the moment is charged, and he thinks, over thinks, analyzes and over analyzes. Her eyes are curious, but he doesn’t say anything, and neither does she.

:::

Maya’s so hot when she wakes up. And it’s probably the fact that Ryan’s glued himself to her, pressed up against her back, arm over her waist, and—and she feels self-conscious, like she needs to move, but—but her resolve is crumbling, and that crush she thought she was over is back, in full force, because how many times did she think about this, about him pressed against her, sleeping soundly?

In her wildest dreams it was only this innocent.

He shuffles beside her, and she pretends she’s asleep as he wakes.

“Maya?” he whispers, and in an Oscar worthy performance, she pretends she’s just now waking, giggling a little when she realizes how close they are. He doesn’t move though, even though they’re both awake now, and Maya doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Hey,” she says, shuffling in his grasp, turning over to face him. The clock on the wall behind them says it’s two. His arm is slung lazy over her waist, fingertips grazing her spine.

“Hey,” he echoes. And God, he looks good like this, sleepy, smiling, face soft and tender and she might still be dreaming.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to—” he rescinds his arm, falling into himself, but the space between them isn’t diminished. They’re still close, lovers close, like she could reach forward and kiss him. She doesn’t, even though she really wants to.

And like they did before she fell asleep, they do the same thing now, with Ryan watching her and her watching him back, unwavering. And she just doesn’t know what that means.

There was a moment in the diner, where she stood close to him, leaning against his shoulder but it was just cause she was _tired_ , she said to herself. There was the palm reading, telling him silly things that made him laugh, but she was just _playing_. There was the weird expression on his face when she brought him coffee, but that’s just what _friends_ do. And here’s this, these moments where they look at each other, and she feels like maybe.

Maybe there’s something there, and then as soon as she thinks so, he closes himself off.

“I’m gonna wash up. Think it’s okay if I shower?”

Maya’s dazed but she shrugs. “I—yeah. It’s just down the hall. Go for it.”

He gets out of bed and she tries not to watch him dig through his things, or pull off his sweatshirt, his t-shirt riding up so she can see the delicious curve of his back, the tantalizing band of his underwear.

Her resolve is thin. Who can blame her?

He glances back at her before leaving and gives her a soft smile. And her heart does a thing, but she gives him a smile back, and then he’s gone, and the magic is gone with him, and finally, Maya feels like she can breathe.

Searching for her phone, she calls Curly.

“Hey, mamacita,” Curly answers and Maya stares up at the ceiling.

“You were right.”

“I coulda told you that. In fact, I’m pretty sure you already knew that.”

“Curly, he’s just—” she cuts herself off. “He’s just so much, you know? We took a nap, and we shared my bed, and when I woke up, we were spooning. Like—I know it was just an accident. Bodies finding warm bodies, but—”

“But nothing, Maya. Look. I suggest you just tell him how you feel. Ryan will let you know. Sometimes that boy doesn’t even know what _he_ wants. Maybe he doesn’t think you’re an option.”

“I’m an option, though. I’m so an option. I’m optioning so hard right now.”

Curly laughs and Maya sighs.

“But I don’t think I’m _really_ an option, though. Like, we talked a few nights ago, and he said he’d wingman for me. Boys don’t do that, right?”

“Ooh,” Curly says. “’M afraid they don’t, babe.”

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine. It’s just for today and tomorrow. And then we’ll pretend break up and I will never, ever talk to him again.”

Curly snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

“Goodbye,” she sings and hangs up before he can say anything else.

Inside herself she feels like things are a little bit different. Just a little, but Ryan—she’s seen Ryan with girls, how he flirts, the way he goes out of his way to ensure that he’s definitely into them. None of that is happening, right now. And that’s fine. It’s totally fine.

Maya leaves her room and finds her mom in the kitchen. She’s cooking, which means people will be arriving soon. Which means she can eat because it’s been _so_ long.

“Mami, I’m hungry,” she grumbles. “Everything smells so good.”

“You can have _one_ tamal,” her mom says, and Maya practically jumps out of her skin. Her mom’s cooking was the best. Had all the other mom’s beat. This tamal was going to save her _life_.

It’s quiet in the kitchen for a few minutes, Maya straight up chowing down, taking selfies with her tamal to post on Instagram.

“Ryan—he’s that ghost boy, huh?” her mom says. Maya perks up in her seat, looking at where her mom stands.

“What?”

“The one with the show. The one you’re always talking about.” Her mom looks at her, and she wishes she could tell her mother everything, how yes, he is the ghost boy, but no, they aren’t dating at all. That they’re pretending, but sometimes it doesn’t really feel like that.

“Oh, yes! That’s Ryan. Ghost boy himself.”

“He’s—” Maya’s mom whistles like a cat call, clearly approving, and Maya snickers.

“Mami!” but she’s laughing, because Ryan’s hot as hell, even in a sweatshirt and glasses and sleepy eyes—

“He’s very handsome. You did _good_. He treats you well?”

“Mhm,” Maya says. “He’s literally the best. He’s _so_ funny, Mami. He tells these dumb stories that just make me laugh and laugh. And he’s so smart. And he’s just _good_. Kind. He makes me feel good about myself.”

And that much is true. He does make Maya feel good about herself, in a way that she hadn’t realized until she’d said so. He compliments her, laughs with her, looks at her sometimes, like she’s very precious and Maya doesn’t know what to do with any of that.

“Good. I’m glad he’s opened his eyes. You’ve been talking about him for years, I was starting to go crazy.”

“Mami!” Maya says, but she’s laughing again, eating the last of her tamal.

And her mother looks happy, so happy for her she doesn’t know what to do with that, either. Because they’re going to fake break up and Ryan can never show his face around here again.

Which won’t be difficult, since her parents lived five hours away from her. She sighs internally, but keeps a smile on, if only to keep her mom smiling.

:::

Ryan is about fifty-four thousand percent sure he wasn’t supposed to hear that conversation. He’d finished showering and getting dressed, and he expected to find Maya in her room, but when she wasn’t there, he suspected the kitchen was the next best place. 

He can hear Maya’s scandalized voice, and he doesn’t mean to smile but he can’t help it.

“ _Good. I’m glad he’s opened his eyes. You’ve been talking about him for years, I was starting to go crazy._ ”

Ryan stops cold, right in the middle of the living room. He can hear Maya exclaim, but he’s suddenly awash with warmth, just dripping over his body like syrup. _For_ _years_. God, he’s an idiot.

And granted, there was a relationship or two, where he didn’t really see beyond who he was with, but for Maya to have _liked him_ for that long, and he didn’t even look at her? He feels like the ground should swallow him whole, maybe chew him up a little bit because now he was a little head over heels and it all happened so fast, and he didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did, and he didn’t deserve her.

And he was unclear if this is still a thing that Maya does, talk about him to her mother, but in any case, it just makes the warmth in his chest burn hotter.

He lets the moment pass, and when he walks into the kitchen, he’s brazened, bold, leans in to give Maya a kiss on her cheek, watching the way she flushes when he says, “Hey babe.”

There’s something there, Ryan thinks. There has to be.

“Hi,” Maya says, looking up at him, smile so lovely Ryan just—

He doesn’t even know.

“Hi, Mrs. Murillo,” he says. “Thanks for having me.”

“My pleasure, _mijo_. Are you hungry? There’s some tamales ready.”

“Yeah, starving actually.” Ryan moves to fix it himself, but Maya stands.

“Let me,” she says, dropping her dish into the sink. He tries to protest, but she just looks at him, her face soft, like she doesn’t mind. She busies herself, fixing him a plate of food, and—the domesticity of it is a lot for him. Because he _loves_ this part. This, where the comfort has set in, and there’s no more trying to impress, no more boasting. Just comfort.

Maya sets the dish in front of him, along with a glass of water, a fork, and then—and then she presses her lips to his temple, like she’s done it a million times. He feels his heart in his throat, and he wants to turn his head, catch her lips instead.

He doesn’t.

This was a lot harder than he anticipated. Because they fell so easily together. Because he can see it in LA. Can see her in his kitchen, in his living room, _fuck_ , in his bed, with her gorgeous eyes and her hips and her sweet as sugar smile that actively torments his heart. He can see himself settling with her. And that is a lot all on its own, but Maya is _good_. She has a beautiful personality, bubbly and fun and free. Just as much as a nerd for Disney as he is. And he’s _attracted_ to her; he could see himself never getting his fill of her.

“I’m gonna jump in the shower before the festivities,” she sing-songs. “Do you need anything, baby?” Maya’s all hips against the entryway, looking at him like maybe, _maybe_ she still felt a little bit some which way for him. And he doesn’t miss the way she calls him _baby_ , the endearment slipping off her tongue with ease.

He shakes his head. “No, this is good. Thank you,” he says.

If his hands are a little shaky when he picks up his fork, that’s his business.

Ryan, because he’s more or less a people person, sparks up a conversation with Maya’s mother. She’s sweet, tells stories about Maya being a little girl, how she loves to sing so much. At one point, she shhes their conversation, and Ryan can hear it, Maya singing in the shower. And he smiles so wide, because it’s _lovely_. He knew that though. He’s seen her videos, has heard her out for karaoke. She sang him to _sleep._

When he finishes eating, he excuses himself and steps into the back yard, sitting on a lawn chair. Mrs. Murillo has gone back to cooking and effectively shooed Ryan away, despite his many offers to help.

Ryan looks at the sky; it’s a beautiful day, warmer than he expected, but it’s nice.

He’s bottled up with so many emotions he doesn’t know what to do, or who to talk to. So of course, he dials up the only person with the kind of logic he needs.

Shane answers on the second ring.

“Hey, man,” Shane greets, his voice tinny through the earpiece of Ryan’s cell. Ryan sighs.

“Hey, Merry Christmas Eve!”

“You, too! Sara’s here, she says hello!”

He can hear her through the phone and his heart warms. “Hi Sara!”

“What’s up? You sound kinda funny.”

“I need your help,” Ryan confesses. “Because I really, really don’t know what I’m doing.”

Ryan sucks in a breath and tells Shane the whole thing.

How Maya had proposed he spend Christmas Eve in phoenix, how he said yes, how he’s gone and caught feelings, even though it was supposed to be pretend. The conversation he overheard, little moments that made his head spin. Ryan told Shane _everything_.

“Shane?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Just processing.”

Ryan stays quiet on his end, sighing a little.

“I’m gonna skip over the part where you _lied_ to me,” Shane says, but his voice is light, like he’s not really, _really_ bothered by it. “But what do you want to do?” Shane asks. “Like really think about it. Is it just because of the scene you’ve set, or do you really want to date her?”

Ryan hadn’t thought of it that way. He hadn’t thought that maybe the situation was giving him emotions he wasn’t really feeling. But that wasn’t quite him either; if he wanted something—film school, their show, any girl he’s ever dated—it was because he _wanted it_.

“I think—I think it’s a little bit the scene,” Ryan admits. “But I think the scene just gave me a new perspective. Like, just a different way of seeing her.”

“I think you have your answer, man. I think if you like her and you want something real with her, just ask. The worst she could say is no, you guys come back to LA, and you’re a little bruised, but you’ll bounce back.”

Ryan sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I’ll talk to her tonight—”

“On Christmas Eve? That’s a little—I mean, do what you want, but this is all much to Hallmark movie, if you ask me.”

Ryan laughs, and he shrugs his shoulders even though Shane can’t see him. “’Tis the season.”

“Talk to you later,” Shane says, breathy laughter soft through the phone.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

He clicks off the call. And now he’s nervous, because he knows what he has to do, and it’s the one thing he hates doing; he could run through a million different scenarios and it never turns out the way he imagines. But he sucks it up, because he’s thinking about her; he’s in her parent’s house for Christ’s sake. That’s got to count for something.

There aren’t many people he’s willing to get up for at five just to drive five hours to make their parents happy. That all in itself says a little something about something.

Ryan goes back inside; down the hall, the door to the bathroom is open, so Maya must be getting dressed. He knocks on her bedroom door, but it gives way, swinging open. She’s sitting at her desk, in front of the mirror, doing her make up.

“I didn’t really know where else to go,” he admits. “Mom kicked me out of the kitchen.”

Maya’s laugh is like a windchime, and she looks at him through the mirror. “You can hang out with me in here. It’s just Christmas music and makeup.”

Ryan walks in, leaving the door open behind him. He takes care to kick off his sneakers before climbing onto Maya’s bed, lying on the side he slept on. She’s close; he can observe her.

Maya is barefaced, wet hair over her shoulders. And Ryan just _likes_ it. A lot.

“YouTube tutorial it,” he says, grinning at her. “I’ll need it for later when I have to do my makeup.”

Her laugh is soft as she shakes her head. “Okay, okay. Up first, foundation. You already missed primer but that’s fine, half the time I forget it and make up? Flawless.” She drags out the ‘S’. “So, I’m using Tarte, cause it’s hot and this one is super lightweight and has SPF. No flashback, though, which is good.”

Ryan has questions, but he doesn’t voice them, just watches, quiet, as she puts the foundation on with a brush, covering her face. It makes her skin monotone, and—

“You look like a ghost,” he teases.

“Quick, catch a pic! Proof ghosts exist! Take _that_ , Shane.”

He doesn’t move to, but then she’s looking at him, and she says, _boo_ , so he does take a photo and then another. And then her attention is back in the mirror.

He does in fact send the photo to Shane.

_Found a ghost._

_Attachment: 1 image_

_Of COURSE you find the only other_   
_Boogara in the world to catch feelings_   
_for. Tell her Sara and I say Merry_   
_Christmas, idiot._

“Shane says Merry Christmas,” Ryan says, laughing.

She turns to him. “Oh, tell him the same! Did you send him the picture?” She asks, giggling.

“He called you a Boogara,” Ryan says, laughing as he locks his screen and lays his phone on the bed.

“Well, duh. He’s clearly on the wrong side.” She turns back to the mirror, continuing her routine. He doesn’t know why he feels so hot all of a sudden, but he does.

Maya narrates the whole bit. Bronzer makes her face warm, brings back the dimensions in her forehead, her cheeks. Blush gives her color, but she blushes so much, she doesn’t really need it, he thinks. She does her eyebrows with a pencil, using meticulous, slow movements—he doesn’t think she breathes during this part. (Ryan doesn’t really breathe either.) She does the wing he likes with black eyeliner, and then reaches for the mascara which makes her eyelashes flutter. He watches the whole thing with strange curiosity; he’s seen girls put makeup on before; girlfriends, the ladies at work—even he’s done it with Shane for a video. But here, it’s something else. He likes watching her, the way she cracks jokes for him, tells him what everything is, even though he instantly forgets it all.

“I need a lipstick, I don’t know which to pick. Pink?” Maya asks him, holding up a tube. “Nude?” Another tube. He sits up on the edge of the bed, touching her shoulder as he does, and looks through her collection. She’s got many; there are darker purples, one crazy neon blue, a white, green, and black, but there’s a few tubes of red that catch his eyes.

He picks the reddest one, like candy apples.

He catches her eyes through the mirror, and then he hands the tube to her, without saying anything.

“A man with taste,” she murmurs, but her joking tone is gone and the air feels hot.

He lays back against her pillows, hands behind his head now, and she glances at him, separating the applicator from the tube and then, slowly, with great care, she applies it, top lip outlined first, and then the bottom. He follows each movement, enraptured, as she fills in the color.

Maya looks down at him again, eyes just this side of intense. “Like it?” she asks.

And it’s a loaded question, and he could tell her, he could tell her right now that fuck yes, he does, and that he likes it on her, that he likes her _period_.

“Looks good,” he says instead. “I’m a genius.”

“Now, now,” she teases, “let’s not go around telling lies.”

He laughs.

Turning back to her reflection, she seems to appraise the final product, rustling with something in front of her. She pops in earrings, those hoops he likes, silver, to match the wire frame of her glasses.

“All done,” she announces, and she stands up; she’s wearing a green tank top cropped at the midriff. Her jeans are black and hug her close, she’s basically just the outline of a silhouette. And what a silhouette it is. She spins for him.

“You look really nice,” Ryan says, sitting up, leaning back on the palms of his hands. She sits next to him, right next to his knees.

“Thanks,” she says. “You, too.”

He doesn’t know what to say, and maybe she doesn’t either, but she maneuvers over him, crawling over his legs to _her_ side of the bed. Lying on her side, she nudges his ankle with her toes.

“You’re really quiet,” she observes.

Ryan shrugs. “I think the drive took a lot out of me,” he lies.

“Oh,” she says. “I’d say you could sleep more, but people are going to be here soon. I have a deck of cards. Wanna play a game?”

He should have said no, because it ends up turning into the most wildly flirtatious game of Go Fish he’s ever played.

:::

Maya feels like she’s going to die. Honest, just straight up—her heart is going to give out.

His hand is around her ankle, pulling her closer to him, so he can peek at her cards. In his defense, she’s cheating, but everyone cheats at Go Fish.

And suddenly, he’s on top of her, not properly, not flushed together, but her hands are above her head, over the edge of the mattress, and he’s reaching for her cards, and she’s laughing, laughing so loud it’s like she’s being tickled, eyes shut tight. Ryan calls her name, pleading for her to give in, but she won’t.

When she opens her eyes, she’s confronted with his chest, the hollow of his throat, the stretch of his neck, the hard line of his jaw. She’s so distracted by it, her laughter dies, and he’s got her cards from her, snatches them right from her hands.

She’s bracketed underneath him, and she doesn’t want to move. His knee brushes against her waist, and she could reach up and tug him down by the collar of his dress shirt, but she doesn’t. She could press her hand against his chest, but she doesn’t. She could tell him to _move_ , but she _doesn’t_.

“Murillo, you’re a liar,” he says, climbing off of her, sitting next to her, but he’s so close it does nothing to ease the pressure crushing her lungs.

“I like to think of it as being a creative player,” she says, clearing her throat.

He looks down at her, and his eyes are—so brown, framed by long lashes boys don’t deserve. His smile kicks her heart into overdrive. 

:::

Later, the house fills with people. Ryan meets her dad and brother, Junior, seemingly getting on with the both of them. Maya’s by his side again, and they walk through the house; one of his hands holds a beer and the other is tangled with Maya’s. She introduces him to friends and family members, and he falls in so easily.

At some point though, he’s deep in conversation with a cousin of Maya’s, a good conversation about basketball which always gets him going. But after a while, he realizes he hasn’t seen Maya in a while, and he doesn’t have his phone on him to text her. He excuses himself, and checks her room, the backyard, the kitchen, and then he steps out onto the front porch, where he does find her finally.

Maya is sitting by herself, and he invites himself to sit next to her, leaning forward to look at her face.

“You okay?” he asks.

She nods. “Yeah, just thinking about things. You?”

“Yeah,” he says. Because he is. “I like your family. I think—if we’re both single again next year, I could see us doing this again.” What he really means, though, is if they’re together next year, because he’s finally worked up the nerve to ask her out, he’d like to come back and enjoy her company here, where they’re surrounded by her family.

She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re gonna snatch some pretty girl before then,” she says. “ _But,_ if you’re looking for someone to hang out with on Christmas Eve, you’re always welcome here. My mom loves you.” She pauses, shaking her head. “You’ve got some charm on you, Bergara.”

He huffs a laugh. “ _Please_ , my mom is gonna fall in love with you so fast. You’re gonna be the girl they bring up every Christmas, because you’re just—so great.”

Maya flips her hair over her shoulder. “You’re right. You’re never gonna hear the end of it. Then again,” she says, looking at him with eyes so soft he feels warm, “I don’t think I’m gonna hear the end of it from my mom either.”

He takes her hand in his, kissing her knuckles. When he looks up her, she’s chewing on her bottom lip.

“I’m glad you asked me to come,” he tells her. Because he is. Because if they go the whole year just being friends, he’s good with that too, just to get to drive five hours with her, watch her put on her makeup, and be wholly herself with her family. He was lucky to see such a thing.

“Me too,” she says, smiling wide. “Who knew you’d be such a great boyfriend?”

There’s a pause, and she’s just looking at him and he’s looking at her, and suddenly he has this burst of courage. “Hey, can I tell you something?”

Before she can answer, the door behind them opens, startling them. Music pours out and he sees Junior standing in the doorway.

“Found them, Mami!” Junior hollers behind himself. “They’re just trying to make out under the mistletoe,” he says, and then the door closes.

Ryan looks up and, sure enough, there’s a sprig hanging right above their heads.

The tension holds; he looks at Maya, and when she looks at him, her eyes change; the softness is gone, replaced by something that reminds him of a wildfire. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

He feels like he’s thirteen instead of almost thirty, but she’s nodding, whispering _yes_ so softly, and his hands are holding her face, gentle and he leans in.

:::

Maya pulls back; the kiss had been chaste, nothing like the first kisses she’d daydreamed, but it changes things for her, because now she’s looking at him and all she wants to do is pull him by the collar of his shirt, tell him to kiss her for real.

But she doesn’t. He’s still looking at her, like he’s astonished. Maya pretends not to notice, not really. She giggles though, because she’s never been kissed on Christmas Eve. Mistletoe meant Nana kisses, Mami kisses, kissing the cheeks of her little cousins. Nothing like this, that ignited the match inside her chest, lighting her on fire.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says.

Ryan shrugs. “I wanted to.”

She wants to say so many things, wants him to say so many things. But instead, she just sighs.

“Let’s go back inside, I’m hungry again.” She stands up, and with Ryan’s hand in hers, he stands up, too. And they’re standing and looking at each other. He reaches out and tucks her hair behind her ear.

“You really do look…beautiful,” he says, his voice hushed. And Maya, just bites down on her lip, leading him back inside.

:::

It’s different, but not. When they go inside, there are wolf whistles, and Ryan slightly suspects they were watched through a window. Towards the back of the living room, Ryan can see Maya’s parents, Mrs. Murillo with her head on Mr. Murillo’s shoulder. And—and Ryan _understands_ , he knows what Maya was trying to do, trying to preserve. Of course; how could you want to break their hearts?

The rest of the night passes in a blur of touches. It’s overstimulating, but in the best way, always having to catch his breath a little.

His hand on Maya’s hip when they stand close together.

Maya’s hand on his chest while she talks with someone and he’s engrossed in his own conversation.

The way their hands click like magnets.

Maya’s sitting on his lap on the couch as everyone gathered, opening gifts. In a haze, he remembers his gift, tucked in his suitcase. Ryan leans up to kiss her cheek.

“Let me up a sec,” he whispers, and she does, moving easily to the armrest, as she gasp and awes, egging on a little cousin. He disappears into her room.

He’s nervous. The gift wasn’t anything extravagant. It was just a necklace, with a tiny pendant, a simple thing he thought Maya might like. He noticed she didn’t wear much in terms of jewelry, but he took a chance. But because they were—he wasn’t sure what they were doing, but they were together in a sense that they weren’t when they first arrived at Maya’s parent’s house.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Ryan just grabs the box from his duffel bag and returns, slipping right back into his seat. Maya doesn’t hesitate to take the place she had before, right onto his lap like it’s commonplace, looking down at him. He slips his arm around her hips, resting his hand on her thigh. She hooks a finger under his chin, and he goes willingly, tasting the sweetness of her red (so red) lips. He blames it on the mistletoe, on the show they have to put on, on the one (1) beer he had. He blames it on everything else but the feeling in his chest that makes this feel exactly right.

“You okay?” she asks, her voice gentle, inquisitive.

“Yeah. I just had to grab your gift,” Ryan explains. He pushes the little box wrapped in Christmas themed paper onto her lap. And maybe he should have done this in private, between the two of them, but the excitement is too much to contain now, and he’s been holding her gift for a week and now that she can have it, he wants her to.

“Whatcha got there, Maya?” Junior says, wiggling his eyebrows knowingly. And with Maya on his lap, feeling too much, too vulnerable, Ryan just watches Maya’s features, her face, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Dunno,” she says easily.

There are eyes on them, and God, he shouldn’t have, but he did and now he just has to sort of live with it.

It’s quiet, some chatter over the music playing low. Maya rips the paper and she tips the lid off the box, and Ryan’s so ready to mumble an apology, but Maya just—she just looks at him, gasping.

“What the fuck,” she mouths. And Ryan bursts into a grin, relief spreading through him. “Ryan, _baby_ , this is so pretty. Who even are you?”

“I’m just me, babe.” He squeezes her thigh gently.

“Put it on me,” she says excitedly, and he does, and the way she tosses her hair over her shoulder, the way he clasps the necklace—it’s all a little more sensual than he realized, his skin burning. Despite the desire to, he doesn’t press a kiss to the nape of her neck where the clasp of her necklace rests.

Maya puts on a little show, using her vogue hands, and people ooh and ahh and laugh, and then things go back to normal, but Maya’s fingers touch the necklace and she looks at him, with eyes that glitter so bright he’s certain she harbors the sun.

:::

Finally, everyone’s gone. Maya's parents have gone to bed, and her brother is gaming on the couch, she and Ryan retreat. There’s a buzz in her fingertips and she keeps reaching up to touch the necklace, like maybe she’d imagined it.

She still can’t quite believe she was brave enough to steal a kiss from him on the couch while they were opening gifts.

It isn’t even a matter of bravery; she just wanted to.

They take turns changing in the bathroom, brushing teeth and getting ready for bed. Maya is already under the bedspread, braiding her hair. When Ryan comes in, she—she’s gone for it. He looks warm and soft in his t-shirt and sleep pants, glasses back on. This—she can’t believe she never knew this Ryan existed, looking at her with eyes she can’t describe, even if she tried her hardest.

She remembers the porch. Sitting on his lap on the couch. Those moments happened, and yet, they’re suspended. Somewhere between isn’t and is. Somewhere between are and aren’t. Somewhere between not quite and almost.

She finishes her braid, and Ryan watches her. She’s hyperaware that there’s a difference from this morning and now. She’s aware that the door is closed and that the chance of his hands on her body is greater. And it’s all she can think of, now that she knows what his lips taste like.

It still isn’t real, though, and her hopes aren’t substantiated. There’s nothing that makes it more than it was when she asked him to come here with her.

“You know,” she says, laying her braid over her shoulder. “I can’t believe all I got you was a new phone case because your current one is a piece of shit.”

His laugh is so genuine she feels it in her bones. Ryan laughs, like really laughs, and then he’s setting his glasses on her dresser and he’s crawling into bed, in a way that a guy hasn’t really ever done with her. He moves, lithe, built like sin, and Maya takes a deep breath, turning her body to reach underneath the lamppost on the bedside table next to her. The room flushes with darkness.

“I liked the jersey,” he says. “You nailed that one. It was perfect.” 

She can feel Ryan settle next to her underneath the blanket, and because she’s out of her mind, she searches for him underneath the covers. Her hands find his chest, and his arms find her waist.

It’s comfortable, easy, like maybe they’re just riding the high of the mistletoe, but she wishes it would last forever.

There aren’t any figurative cameras around. They don’t have to act like this. But Ryan doesn’t pull away and she sure as shit doesn’t.

“What’s your Christmas wish?” His voice is but a whisper, and she inhales, closing her eyes.

Her wish is much too heavy to really say aloud, so she says, instead, “That we get to your parent’s safely.”

She can feel more than hear Ryan’s laughter against her hands. She leans in closer laying her head on his chest, in that soft space against his shoulder. She has to shift, just a little, so she’s flush with the side of his body, resting her arm against his ribcage; their ankles tangle and it’s _intimate_.

Quiet falls and blankets them. There’s a calmness, and even though she’s exhausted, she feels too much for the man laying underneath her to actually sleep. She closes her eyes though, tries to let Ryan’s even breaths lull her.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?” she answers.

“Will you sing again?”

She looks up at him, and it’s too dark to really see anything, but she knows he’s not looking down at her.

“Okay,” she answers. “What do you want to hear?”

“Anything.”

She takes a minute; she’s unpracticed and tired—her voice isn’t top notch. But she settles, finds a song in her repertoire, and begins. His favorite again.

And she starts, just as nervous as she’d been when she recorded that song for him. God, she must have deleted three or four before settling on one, just to send to him. And even as she sings it now— _If only in my dreams­­—_ she’s wishing again.

When she finishes, she whispers, “Goodnight,” and when he doesn’t answer, she rests her head against his shoulder, and slips easily into sleep.

:::

In the morning, they wake up way too early. It’s just after five, Ryan’s alarm beeping from Maya’s desk. He reaches for it, shuts it off and switches on the bedside light. He looks beside him, and Maya’s pressed against his chest, rousing, eyelashes fluttering as she opens her eyes. God, he wishes he was braver.

“Merry Christmas,” he says.

“Merry Christmas,” she echoes, snuggling into his chest, rubbing her hand against his ribs. Their legs are tangled under the sheets and he’s too comfortable to move, sleep warm and tied up in each other. Ryan doesn’t think of the word _bliss_ often, but he’d use it to describe this.

“We have to get up so we can go,” he whispers.

“Don’t wanna,” she says, but there’s a sleep-soft smile curling her lips and he feel like he might die, like he’s flying to close to the sun.

And then she’s gone, untangled and standing up from the bed, stretching her body, and she really is all hips in tiny shorts and her sleep tank; she’s perfect.

“Dibs on the first shower. Mami should be up by now. Will you get coffee? All cream, no sugar,” she reminds him. He just watches as she moves; she takes her glasses from the bedside table and slips them on, looking at him. No makeup, blushing cheeks. He’d do anything she asked with the way she looks at him.

“Yeah. Go, I’ll save you a cup.”

She’s gone then, again, towels over her shoulder, the door clicking closed behind her.

Just like she said, Mrs. Murillo is already up, and there’s a hot pot of coffee already made. She gives him a soft smile.

“Sleep well, _mijo_?” she asks from where she’s clearly preparing breakfast. His stomach grumbles.

“I did, thank you.”

“Maya seems happy with you,” she says. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her this happy.”

If this were a movie, Ryan would think she’s laying it on thick. But considering how he feels for her daughter, it just makes him feel good, like there’s a possibility.

“Did she really used to talk about me?” Ryan asks, because—you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.

Mrs. Murillo laughs. “I just thought it was a crush. She likes that show you do. The one with ghosts. And she’d call and tell me all about what happened, how funny it was. Even now, she does.”

“Now?” he says, trying to contain his surprise.

“Well I imagine, it’s because you’re together,” she explains, looking at him a little funny.

But—but they weren’t. Aren’t. So—so he can concisely deduce that Maya is, in fact, very into him.

“Oh, right,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Mrs. Murillo serves him a plate; _chorizo y papas_ and he’s practically salivating. He loves waffles, but literally, fuck waffles.

“She liked you for so long. I’m glad something came of it.”

Ryan looks up at Mrs. Murillo, smiling so wide. He has what he needs, knows what he’d wanted to find out.

“She’s lovely,” Ryan says. “I’m so glad something came out of it, too.”

:::

Maya towels off her hair, sloughing it up into some wild, haphazard bun. She doesn’t bother with makeup—she’ll do it at some point, when they get lunch maybe. She pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, tries her luck and takes the purple hoodie Ryan’s left on the bed and pulls it on. It smells like him, warm, soft on the inside. If he asks, she’ll just say she thought it was hers, although, the Lakers logo is a bit hard to mistake in Phoenix, home of the Suns.

She wanders into the kitchen, and because she’s happy, giddy, wide awake from her shower, she covers her hands over Ryan’s eyes from behind him, and whispers, “Guess who!” while he’s eating.

“Jessica Alba, is that you?”

“You’re so annoying,” she says, and because—she feels like she can now, because they’ve crossed the barrier into this weird territory where they’ve kissed (twice now)—she smacks a wet one on his cheek.

“Mami, you made chorizo? My _heart_ ,” she says, promptly serving herself.

Ryan excuses himself to the shower, and while he’s gone, Maya and her mother talk.

“He looks at you like you’re the sun, _mija_.”

Maya shakes her head. “Those are just his eyes, Mami. He looks at everyone like that,” she says, laughing.

“ _Maya_ , please. You should have seen him last night, looking around for you like he was lost. And then when you were opening gifts? He’s looking at _you_ like that.”

Maya touches her throat, fingers catching metal. “ _Mami_ ,” she whines. Because she can’t just tell her he’s pretending. Because they’ve done so good up until now.

“He likes you. _A lot_. I told him you used to talk about him, about his show, and he said he’s glad something came of it.” Mrs. Murillo turns away and Maya stares at her. She feels cold, all over her body, because Ryan wasn’t supposed to know that. Ryan wasn’t supposed to know that she’s been crushing on him, that’s she’s been head over heels since forever. He wasn’t supposed to know that.

For all their planning, she hadn’t planned for this.

She eats the rest of her food, even though she’s lost her appetite, anticipating what is possibly going to be the longest five hours of her life: the sequel.

After Ryan’s dressed and packed up, they say their goodbyes to her mom and dad, both of them standing on the porch and waving them off like the Hispanic parents they truly are.

In the car, Ryan fiddles with the radio; they’re coasting down the freeway now, headed west to California. When Ryan finds whatever he’s looking for, he reaches over, tugs the drawstring of the purple hoodie she’s wearing.

“What’s this?” he says, and when he glances at her, his eyes sparkle.

“I was in a hurry,” she mumbles, and he laughs.

:::

Ryan switches lanes; it’s only been three hours; they’re just a little over halfway there, so they can stop for a bit. He’s getting hungry again; Maya’s passed out against the passenger side door.

First off, she’s been a driving hazard the whole time, wearing his hoodie. Secondly, she’s lucky he didn’t pop a boner in the kitchen the first time he’d seen it on her, still wearing the necklace he’d given her.

Every single line from here to there is blurred, and whatever space between them is greyed. Are they even still pretending?

In a sense, sure. Neither of them have admitted anything. Most of what they’ve done, save for underneath the mistletoe on Maya’s front porch has been for the sake of Maya’s parents. But here they are, driving to Ryan’s parents, back home to LA, just to do it all over again.

Ryan, at this point, just lets himself enjoy it. He doesn’t know what’s to come, when the Christmas magic diminishes and they were back in the real world, as real people with lives to go back to. It’s been just a handful of days, planning all of this, executing it, and with everything in him, he wishes they could just keep it going.

He stops at a gas station somewhere in Cactus City. He has just under a half a tank; he may as well fill now.

He looks over at her, sighing. He doesn’t want to wake her up, but he knows he should. He reaches over the console; it’s too much to tuck her hair behind her ear, but he does it. Touches his fingers to her cheek.

“Your hands are cold,” she mumbles, turning her head to look at him. Her eyes flutter, like she’s warring with sleep.

“Sorry,” he says, and she shakes her head.

“’S fine. Where’d we stop.”

“Cactus City. Are you hungry?”

“A little. Tired mostly—but do you want me to take over? You have to be way more tired than me,” she says. Her eyes blink open, like she’s wide awake. And he would—he’d like that, but he declines. He can make it just fine. They’ll—they’ll just nap in Ryan’s room, like they’d done yesterday in Maya’s.

“My mom’s not as much of a stickler for naps,” he teases. She laughs, wilting back against her seat.

“High school was horrible, with a capital ‘H’.” She rolls her eyes. “All I wanted to do when I came home was sleep, but since she worked from home, that was impossible.” She yawns, covering her mouth, stretching, pushing out her chest as she arches her back. Ryan’s just so fucked up, he looks out of the windshield rather than sneak a glance. “I’m exhausted. But yeah—we should get something to eat. I need to do my makeup. I don’t want your mom thinking you have some crazy looking girlfriend.”

“I like you like this,” he says, looking at her. “She’d like you, too.”

Maya rolls her eyes. “You’re nuts. At least my eyebrows. And mascara. Lipstick? Yes. May as well do the whole thing.”

Sighing, Ryan leaves her to it as she pulls down the visor from above her head.

In the gas station, he gives cash to the cashier, steps outside to fill up. When he gets back in the car, Maya’s playing Christmas music. He leaves it, because it’s Christmas.

She looks like she does around the office; features accentuated. He misses the red lip; she’s got a muted color on now. And maybe that’s for the best, since he’s driving and all he wants to do is look at her.

“Sorry for stealing your hoodie,” she says when they walk inside the Ihop. Ryan looks at her, looks down at the sweatshirt. It wears well on her.

“Looks good on you,” is all he says. And when the host ushers them to their table, he places his hand on the small of her back.

:::

For the rest of the drive, Maya stays awake, shuffling through Christmas music as she sings along. He laughs when she exaggerates her singing, pulling out her best Christina, Kelly, pretending she can beat-box when Pentatonix comes on.

It’s not like she doesn’t think about it, though, about him, about what he knows. And she tries not to put stock into the fact he hasn’t _said_ anything to her about her liking him. Or him liking her back. But it deflates her, forces her to settle with the fact that when they get home, separately, that’s the end of all of this. She’s grown too attached to him at this point, at the make-believe world they’ve built. And that’s her own fault, for concocting this ridiculous plan and proposing it to him. It’s her own fault for not listening to Curly when he’d told her how bad an idea this was. She only had herself to blame for allowing her feelings for him to get out of hand.

Ryan’s house is huge; of course it is, his father’s a dentist. Lowering the mirror in the passenger seat, she checks her teeth. They could be whiter, but she brushes twice a day. Flossing? That’s another story all together.

He’s leaning back against the headrest. He looks exhausted, and she feels bad for putting him through this. But it’s the last leg of the concert. Just dinner they have to get through, and they’ll wait a little bit, and break up and go back to normal. She’s worried though, that they won’t be normal after this. That this closeness has tarnished them. Because she’s wearing his sweatshirt, his necklace, and he’s made a habit of calling her _babe_. And she’s not much better, calling him _baby_ every chance she gets. She can’t remember the last time she’s called him _Ryan._

“I could sleep for a million hours,” he says, and their eyes meet. She takes his hand over the console; another thing that’s so easy to do now.

“Not a million, but a couple for sure.”

He chuckles, taking her hand against his lips. His mouth is warm, and her skin burns where he’s laid his kiss. Another thing that’s blurred the lines between them. Breaking up is going to ruin her.

“Come on,” he says.

They get out of the car and, like at Maya’s, he grabs their bags from the back seat. But this time, he’s walking in front of her, opening the door.

There are people here already; people she doesn’t know, and she feels _shy_. She wonders if this is how Ryan felt, a million eyes on her, wondering who she is.

“Ryan!”

It must be his mother. He looks like her, soft features, wide smile.

“You must be Maya! Ryan’s told me absolutely nothing about you, I’m expecting to learn a lot.”

Maya turns to look at Ryan; he’s grinning.

“It’s nice to meet you!” Maya says, falling into his mother’s hug. She’s warm, smells like cinnamon and vanilla.

“You guys look tired. Did you drive okay? How was your family, Maya? I hope they’re well.”

Maya just—there’s too much emotion in her chest. She feels like crying, because none of it real.

“They’re great,” she says. “Sad I couldn’t be home, but when Ryan invited me, they understood. They love your son, by the way. I think they might kick me out and adopt him.” She laughing as she says so, Mrs. Bergara’s laugh joining hers.

“Please—as soon as they figure out how much trouble he is, they’ll send him back.”

“Hey!” Ryan protests from next to her. She feels fingers tickling hers, and she lets Ryan take them, take her hand in a grasp she’s getting used to.

“You guys look tired. Go wash up. If you want to nap dinner’s not until later. Your dad and Jake went to pick up your uncle. He had a flat and no spare.” Mrs. Bergara makes a sympathetic face.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” Maya says. She relishes in the gentle smile Mrs. Bergara gives her, lives in the warmth. But Ryan’s tugging her along, up a staircase. It’s exponentially quieter.

“Shouldn’t we say hi to everyone?” Maya asks, looking behind her to the few people that were standing and talking.

“Yeah, but I’m going to drop dead—” Ryan pushes open a door, and she immediately can tell it’s his old bedroom. Posters of the Lakers, movies, trophies on his dresser. She immediately wants to tear through everything, look through his life, learn things she can only by perusing his living space.

“Rude of you,” she mumbles. He’s still close that she can look at him, see the sleep soft smile curl his lips. She slips off her Vans, wiggling her toes against the carpet.

“Maya—”

She doesn’t allow him to say whatever it is he’s wanting to. “I’m not one to turn down a free nap, though.”

She lets go of his hand, finds his bed with her body, climbing into it, under covers that smell like they’ve been washed recently.

The door clicks shut when he closes it, and Ryan sets their things down by the dresser. He kicks off his sneakers, tugs off his sweatshirt; this time, she sees that delicious sliver of skin between the rise of his t-shirt and the band of his underwear. She swallows thickly, hugging the blankets closer.

“You can’t laugh,” he says, yawning. “You said I couldn’t laugh at your room, so you can’t laugh at mine.” He tosses his sweatshirt to the floor, undoes the buckle of his belt before tossing it as well. Maya feels much too hot to be laughing at anything while Ryan is undressing.

“At least I had a bed big enough for a queen,” she says, sticking out her tongue. She tries to pretend her heart isn’t racing in her chest, wishing Ryan would just strip from the rest of his clothes.

“Oh—” he stops short of climbing in. “I can sleep on the floor—God, there’s a whole guest room—”

“No!” Maya realizes her exclamation is probably going to scare him off. “There’s—it’s fine,” she says, feigning nonchalance. “Unless…do you usually sleep separate from your girlfriend?” Maya asks him.

He shakes his head. “No—but—it doesn’t matter what I usually do,” he says, voice low. “I want you to feel comfortable.”

Her heart flutters; she hates how considerate he is, even while he’s ruining her resolve, steadily destroying her peace of mind.

“Then come on, ghost boy,” she says, like she’s not crumbling internally. “Keep me warm.”

He eyes her, for just a moment. “Honestly, I can just—”

“Just lay down, Bergara,” she snaps, without real heat, so he smiles and climbs in next to her. They’re substantially closer together. He gets in, underneath the blankets; their thighs touch.

Without saying anything, she lays against him, head on his chest, arm around his waist.

Maya pretends she doesn’t hear his heart beating so fast.

:::

It’s a repeat of Maya’s house, except he doesn’t feel so out of place. When he wakes up, she’s not in bed with him. The door is shut, and he wonders when she’d left. He looks at the clock; it’s just after three. Dinner will be in a couple hours and he’s starving.

He gets up and leaves his room to peek over the banister; he spots Maya, sitting on the couch, his mother right next to her. They’re talking, and with all the chatter, the music, he can’t hear them, but Maya looks up, like she knows he’s watching. The smile she gives him—

Breaking up is going to be hard.

He showers, brushes his teeth, towels off his hair. He doesn’t dress in anything fancy, opting for flannel pants and a ghoul boys tee.

In his room, he answers the ‘Merry Christmas’ texts he’s been neglecting. Shane’s message is a lot more.

_Merry Christmas, bud. All good?_

_Merry Christmas!_

_I think so. I mean, it’s been good, so far._

_Oh? Did you guys talk?_

_Nope._

_Not anything out of the usual anyway._

_Ryannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn._

He can’t help but laugh, but it’s empty of humor. Because they _should_ talk. They need to. He’s gotta tell her at some point, that he’s halfway in love with her. He knows how little time it’s been, but he’s been wrapped up in her for the last week and he can’t help the way he feels. He’s learned more things about her in the shortest amount of time; this would’ve taken him a year with anyone else.

_I will tonight._

_Good. I’m sure it’ll go well. Who doesn’t love the Bergmeister?_

Ryan closes out of the thread, tosses his phone behind him and finishes getting ready.

Christmas at Ryan’s has always been lowkey. Everyone is basically in their pajamas, and by the time he gets downstairs, everyone’s in _love_ with Maya.

Especially his dad. And that means the world to him. It’s not that his father hasn’t liked the last couple of girlfriends he’s brought home, but they hadn’t clicked. Not like this, anyway.

Maya’s sitting on a counter stool, mug in her hand. He’s sought her out, and when he finds her, she reaches out her hand. She’s beaming at him.

“And this one—you guys did _good_ ,” she says. “Ryan’s a good one.”

He stands close her, close enough that she can reach out and touch her lips to his cheek. 

“What, what did I do?” Ryan asks, a little lost, but he knows Maya is just singing his praises for show.

“I was asking Maya where she’d gotten her necklace,” his mom says. “She says it’s from you.”

Ryan shrugs. “Just wanted to do something nice.” 

Ryan’s mom shakes her head. “You’re a sweet boy,” she says, reaching up to touch her fingers to his cheek. “Now out, you silly kids. I need to finish up in here.”

Maya’s laugh twinkles, and she hops off the stool, pressed close against him.

“You look better,” she says, fingers through his hair. “I was a little worried you wouldn’t wake up, sleeping beauty.” Her eyes glitter, so, so pretty, and he’s aching in his chest.

He laughs, steals a kiss from her cheek, before his mother is physically pushing them out of the kitchen.

They set up on the couch, Maya with her mug, socked feet over his lap. She watches his little cousins play, her eyes glossy, smile soft. He keeps his hand over her shin as he talks to his brother about mindless things.

:::

Dinner is a simple affair.

Everyone gathers around the table, holding hands. Maya, heart full, leans her head on Ryan’s shoulder. His thumb strokes over the back of her hand as Mr. Bergara prays over their meal, welcoming Maya as a guest.

She loves it, loves the feeling of being included, but she hadn’t realized her idea would wreck more people than she’d imagined. It was just supposed to be a simple thing, but—but she likes Ryan’s family, likes having them think that they’re smitten, in love. She likes feeling like she is, with Ryan’s hand in hers, kissing each other’s cheeks like they’ve been doing it forever.

It’s going to be over when they wake up in the morning; she may as well make the best of it.

Maya fixes herself a plate, and because it’s second nature, she fixes Ryan’s, too, handing it to him when she’s done.

They find spaces to eat outside; it’s a little chilly, but not so much that Ryan’s sweatshirt she’s still wearing doesn’t keep her warm.

They don’t really talk while they eat, but she notes the stolen glances.

“What’s your Christmas wish?” she asks him, sipping from her cider, looking at him over her mug.

He looks at her, smiling softly. It aches in her heart.

“I can’t think of one,” he says. “Think I got all I needed this year.”

She drinks from her mug again, because what’s she supposed to do with that?

Whatever. She doesn’t care—she’s just going to tell him.

“Ryan—"

“Are you finished?” he asks, looking down at her plate.

“I—yeah.”

“Come dance with me. We do it every year,” he says.

And he must mean he does it with his girlfriends, the girls he’s actually into. But he’s not hesitating, so Maya puts down her mug, and takes the hand he offers her.

There’s music, loud enough it feels like a party. There are couples in the living room; the furniture has been moved to accommodate them.

“Just so you know,” he says to her, “I’m a terrible dancer.” He doesn’t immediately take her against him; he walks towards the stereo, unplugs whoever’s phone had been playing music, and plugs in his own. Someone complains, but Ryan doesn’t entertain them; she watches him scroll through his phone. Instantly, she recognizes the opening bars of the song. She tries to pretend like she’s okay, like she isn’t going _absolutely insane_ at the fact that Ryan’s playing his favorite Christmas song after he just asked her to dance.

She laughs, and he takes her hand, smiling so softly at her. She doesn’t want to cry, but she feels like she might. She can feel it, building in her chest, just behind her heart. But it’s not the time to be sad by it, not when Ryan’s hands are low around her waist, and she’s got her hands on his shoulders, shuffling some odd two-step.

They dance for a while, just swaying like this, as the Michael Bublé croons _I’ll Be Home for Christmas_.

Maya feels sick, sad, longing for something she’s never had. She wants this moment, out of all the moments. To sway with him, to Christmas songs, in the living room of his parent’s house.

When the song ends, she doesn’t allow herself anymore of it, though.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” she says to him, pulling all too quickly out of his grasp.

“Yeah, okay,” he answers, letting her go. His eyes aren’t shining and he’s frowning as she leaves, and she doesn’t really know where the bathroom is, but she walks up the stairs, looking behind her to see he’s watching her.

:::

Ryan wanders into the kitchen, picking at food while he waits for Maya to come back down.

His mom comes up behind him, hands on his shoulders.

“Ryan, honey. I love her. I love her so much!” she says, smiling brightly. She reminds him of the Christmas tree; sheer joy.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Your dad, too. And Jake—everyone likes her. Why didn’t you tell us about her? She said you guys wanted to take it slow. You don’t take _anything_ slow. I’m surprised you don’t have five kids by now.” She’s teasing him and he knows that. He knows that his mother understands him, how badly he wants a family of his own, and how much it hurts that he’s not there yet.

He looks at his mom, square in the eyes, and instead of confirming what Maya had said, instead of laying on what they’ve concocted, he just shakes his head.

“Mom—she’s _amazing_. I don’t think she knows how amazing I think she is, but she’s—I don’t even know how to describe her.” He sighs, wilting against the counter. “I lied to you. I lied to you and I lied to dad, and everyone. Because—because she had this weird—I don’t even know. She asked me to pretend to be her boyfriend. She asked me to pretend for her family, because she doesn’t really date and she accidentally said something to them, and she didn’t want to make them sad and show up without anyone, and—mom, they’re _fantastic_. Her mom is wonderful, and I get on with her dad and her brother and like—we’re supposed to be pretending, and—and—I don’t want to pretend anymore. Mom, I _really_ like her. Like—like a lot. Like next Christmas and the Christmas after, kind of like.”

His mother’s eyes are wide, staring at him with deep rooted surprise. And then she squints her eyes at him.

“Is this a joke?” she asks.

“ _No_ ,” he says, rubbing his hands over his face. “Mom, tell me what I need to do. Cause I gotta do something. Cause it’s not going to be Christmas for very much longer and I don’t know—I just—”

And then his mom is laughing. “Ryan, honey. I _know_ you’re not pretending about how you feel about her. But I don’t think she is either. You fell asleep and she came down and helped me in the kitchen and she couldn’t stop talking about you. And not silly things. How proud of you she is for what you’ve done with the show, of you. She told me about your guys’ Christmas with her family, the drive over—she’s—she likes you. And maybe she’s too shy to admit it to you, but you need to go tell her how you feel, because she _better_ be here next Christmas.”

Ryan lets his head fall back, looking up at the ceiling.

“Honey. This is good. I haven’t seen you like this in years. I know how you get with the girls you date. But this? I’ve never seen anything like this.” He can feel his mom’s hand on his cheek, so he looks at her.

“Go put that girl out of her misery,” she says. “She’s a good one, Ryan.”

He sighs, laughing. Cause he _knows_ that.

“Wish me luck,” he mutters, breathing through his nose. “Don’t tell dad or Jake,” he says. “I just—I’m never gonna hear the end of it from them.”

“Just _go_ , Ryan,” she admonishes. But there’s a promise in her eyes and he feels at ease as he leaves the kitchen.

Ryan expects to see Maya in the living room, sidled up to one of his family members, but when he doesn’t, the first place he checks is his bedroom. She’s sitting on his bed, cross legged, startled when he walks in—granted, he should have knocked.

She’s been crying. She furiously wipes at her face; he closes the door behind him.

“Hey, Maya—what’s wrong?” he asks, alarmed, because he had more confidence than this when he walked in, because he knows what he knows, but maybe he’s calculated things a little differently. He sits next to her, settling a hand on her shoulder, wanting to pull her to him, because he cares about her, regardless of how he feels about her romantically.

“Don’t,” she whispers, sniffling, shrugging her shoulder to shake him off; he rescinds his hand, like he’s been burned. His heart catapults into a raucous beat. She looks at him, shaking her head.

“What’s wrong? Did I—”

“This was a bad idea,” she says, smiling, but there are tears falling, dark tracks on her cheeks as her makeup comes undone. Her eyes are intense when they look at him and he wants so badly to steal it away from her. All the sadness. Leave her smiling, like she was earlier, when they were in the kitchen and everything felt easy. He wants that back.

“It wasn’t! We’re doing so well,” Ryan says. He wants to touch her, but he knows he shouldn’t, so he doesn’t. He wants to tell her that his mom knows, that it’s okay.

“No, like—I shouldn’t have asked you. _You_ of all people. Because I thought I was over this…this silly crush I had on you. But I can’t pretend, not really. I can’t just pretend like I’m not in love with you.” Maya’s whispered confession feels like a punch to his solar plexus; he’s winded and he wants to say so many things, but he doesn’t know where to start.

“ _And_ ,” she continues, rolling her eyes. “I think the worst part was thinking that maybe I had a chance? Like—I’ve seen the girls you date, Ryan. They’re all supermodels, and I’m—”

“Whoa,” Ryan says, shaking his head. “Hey, _no_ ,” he insists. And this time, because he’s feeling bold again, he reaches out to touch her; he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, tugs the string of his sweatshirt—the one she’s been wearing all day, like a brand, like they’re really in this. She doesn’t shy away, so he figures it’s his turn to say the things he feels. “I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you,” he starts, he catches her eyes, tries to make her believe him.

“That sounds fake, but okay,” she says, but there’s humor there; he’s getting closer. 

“I—you’re so beautiful, Maya. Like, _insane_. Like—like I wasn’t lying to you when I told you that night. You’re smart and so funny, and—and I’ve always thought that. That you’re gorgeous, that I can’t stop looking at you, because I just— _can’t_. Maya, I _like_ you,” Ryan says. His heart is pounding in his chest, but his hands are steady; he strokes his thumb over the blush on Maya’s cheek. “God—I don’t know when it happened, but it did. And it kinda happened all at once. Like one minute you’re my friend, and the next I have to stop myself from blurring lines and just—”

“Oh my god,” Maya says, laughing a little, but this time she looks okay, like she’s happy and Ryan’s heart slows, if only to accommodate for all the feelings rushing through him. He laughs, too, and for a while, that’s all they do. Just laugh, like it’s funny, like he hasn’t been agonizing about his feelings about her since she walked up to him and asked him if he was single.

“ _Ryan_ ,” she breathes.

:::

Maya feels like she’s floating. She’s reeling, trying to process all he’s said to her, but it’s impossible, because they’re still talking, sitting so closely on his bed. She just wants to press against him, kiss him for real, just let him—just _let_ him.

“My mom knows,” he says from beside her. “I just—I’m sorry.”

“Cat’s out of the bag, I guess,” she says. “What did she say?”

“Well, she basically told me to man up and put you out of your misery.” He pauses and she laughs, a screeching kind of laugh that ignites his own laughter. She’s going to thank his mother for the rest of her life.

“She said it didn’t look like we were pretending,” he finishes, with eyes that burn like coal, looking at her with an intensity that suggests maybe he’s been feeling some sort of way well before this conversation.

Maya chews on her bottom lip, breathing in deep. “It was just so easy. It didn’t feel like we were. Ryan, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that—”

“Quit doing that,” he says, taking her hand. “I did this because I wanted to. If not, I wouldn’t have. No more apologizing for it, okay? You asked me a question and I told you an answer, and it was because I _wanted_ to. Not because you forced me or because I felt like I had to. And honestly, you could have asked a completely different question, and I would have said yes. And I think it would have been less guessing. Less pretending like we’re pretending.”

Maya laughs, looking down at their hands, clasped so easily. “Your mom must think I’m nuts,” she mutters.

“She thinks you’re good for me. And I think you’re good for me, too. Said you better come next Christmas.” He’s grinning at her, eyes glimmering like Christmas lights.

“Only if you come home with me next Christmas,” she responds, all too easy. “That’s the only condition.”

“Deal.” He lets go of her hand, and it’s only because he leans in to hug her, and—and it surprises her. A _kiss_ , sure, she would have expected that after what they've said. But a hug? He embraces her so tenderly her eyes well up again.

When he pulls away, he looks at her, reaches up to wipe her eyes. “No more of that, okay? It’s good. I’m good.” He takes her hand in his, clasps them together and she holds on to him. “Fuck, I like you so much it’s ridiculous.”

She laughs. “I like _you_ ,” she says, because it’s been one sided, she thinks, the way he’s consoled her, brought her out of crying over him like it wasn’t real, when the whole time it was.

“My mom told me she—you know. You guys talked.”

Ryan’s mouth presses into a hard line. “Yeah. I just—I hadn’t worked up the courage to say anything yet,” he confesses.

She touches her other hand to his cheek and he leans into it; her heart is a melted mess in her chest. “It’s okay, _cariño._ ” She says. And _that’s_ new, the way it falls so easily from her.

“Oh!” He looks at her with wide eyes. “I like that. What’s that mean?”

She bites her lip. “It’s like sweetheart, I guess.” She’s not sure, but she knows it’s a term her mom calls her dad.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says. He repeats it, accent horrible, and they both laugh. “I’m gonna still call you babe.”

Maya cackles. “I hope so! Maya is no longer. My new name is _babe_ and nothing else.”

His laughter wraps warm around her. “Come on, let’s go back. They’re gonna think we were up to something up here.”

She almost wants them to be. But she doesn’t say anything, just checks her face in the mirror, wiping remnants of her makeup away, not bothering to fix any of it. He takes her hand again and leads her downstairs.

Maya realizes there’s so much that’s different; it reminds her of last night, when they went back into her parent’s house and they just—touched so much. His hands on her, her hands on him, sleeping tucked into each other. They could have at least tried to pretend they weren’t stuck in their feelings, but it was so easy to fall into each other. They were putting on a show, even when they were alone. And now, it doesn’t feel anything like a show.

There are butterflies in her stomach, and they’re holding hands still, and they just rejoin the festivities. Because they don’t have to be up early, they allow themselves fun. And they just—stick together. Attached at the hip, hands, shoulders, arms, never really that far away from each other. And Maya, like, _gets_ it. She understands the feeling; she is literally spinning like a ballerina in a music box. She can’t get over it, the way his fingers touch her waist, the way his hand finds her thigh, the way he just turns to look at her, like he’s checking in. And she just smiles at him. Every single time.

Most of Ryan’s family has gone home; it’s a little after eleven, and they’re lounging on the couch, watching television. He’s got his head on her lap lying stretched out on his back; she strokes her fingers through his hair. When she looks down, his eyes are closed. She’s tired, too; her body aches from long days with little sleep. She traces her fingers over the line of his jaw. He turns his head to look up at her.

“Tired?” he asks her. She nods.

“I’m exhausted,” she says. “Can we go to bed?”

He sits up, rubbing his eyes with his hands. Maya grabs the control and turns the television off. They turns off the lights in the living room as they make their way to Ryan’s bedroom.

They take turns in the bathroom brushing their teeth. Maya braids her hair in the mirror and when she gets back to Ryan’s room, he’s sitting up, already underneath the blankets. She shuts off the overhead lights and climbs in next to him.

They’re quiet. She doesn’t quite fall into him the way she wants to, because there are connotations now, because there’s more now, because she doesn’t know where to put her hands because she wants them all over him.

“Wanna hear something?” his voice is soft, like a whisper. She turns to look at him.

“Tell me all your secrets,” she says.

“I told you I didn’t know when it happened, when I like, _realized_ how I felt about you, but I do know. You sent me that recording of you singing, because you wanted to help me sleep and I just. I must have listened to it a hundred times, over and over again, until I fell asleep. I’m sure that’s when it was. And like, it was a big thing, you know? Cause nothing really helps. But you did. And I just…wanted you to know that.”

Silence sits; all Maya can hear is the rushing of her heartbeat in her ears.

“ _Ryan_ ,” she whispers.

He hums; she turns on his side to face him, and he turns into her. They lay close together, proximity forced by the size of his bed but encouraged by the way they feel about each other.

“Was that okay?”

His breath smells like mint, and he’s just a shadow in the dark of his bedroom, but her eyes can make him out, the features of his face softened by exhaustion. His fingers trip over her waist, pressing against the small of her back; she touches her palm to his chest.

“ _Yeah_.”

There’s a fraction of a second, just a torn piece of a moment where their lips are so close, but they don’t touch, like they’re just hanging on to the anticipation.

Ryan’s mouth is soft, warm, and very, very real. The hot press of his lips makes her sigh soft against his mouth, breathing through her nose. He smells good, like comfort and heat and _happiness_. And she loses herself in him, when the gentle press of his lips becomes more, the taste of his tongue, the heat of his breath on the side of her neck; he knows how to kiss, knock a girl off her feet, that’s for sure.

When they pull away, Maya feels dazed, looking up at Ryan through her lashes, wishing she could see him.

“Wowza,” she says, and Ryan wheezes, and Maya feels like she could jump for joy.

Ryan laughs, and he leans in again, kissing her, fully this time, which is so much different than before, so much more. He’s careful, insistent, shifts her in ways she doesn’t know just to make it _better_.

“You’re incredible,” he says against her lips.

“Ooh,” she says, “tell me more.”

Instead, his lips find the corner of her jaw, kissing over her pulse. He stays there, and she just allows him, letting her eyes close as he kisses her like this.

“I feel like I’m having an out of body experience,” she says, “but like in a good way.”

Ryan hums, pulling back to look at her, rubbing his hand against her back. “Yeah? Like it’s good. I can’t believe I just—wasted so much time.”

Maya feels her face heat. “You didn’t. You were _with_ people. And then you weren’t and now, we’re doing…” Maya rubs her face against his chest. She can hear the steadiness of his heart. “Whatever this is.”

“I like this,” he whispers. “I like you. A lot. You’ve always been…so _sweet._ ” His voice sounds like a confession. “But, all of a sudden I just _wanted_.”

The way he says it makes her heart catapult in her throat.

“ _Want_?”

“Yeah. _Want_.”

She looks up at him, and it’s dark in his room, but there’s still a little light, from the street or the stars; she doesn’t know, but she can make out the vague lines of his face. She reaches her hand up, touching his scratchy chin, up further to touch his lips.

He presses a kiss to her fingertips and Maya’s heart is a frantic flurry of a mess.

“Kiss me,” she whispers, “I’ll go nuts if you don’t.”

There’s no anticipation this time.

His mouth is hot, lascivious, _dirty_. There’s an echo of the first kiss, of the way he held her so gently, but there’s something different here, when he touches her like he’s been missing her a long time. She’s enraptured by it, can’t help herself, touching over his shoulders, his chest, strong under her hands. He touches, too, God does he; his hands find erogenous places on her body she didn’t know she had. She wonders what kind of lover he is, how it would feel to be pressed hot against him, with nothing between their bodies but _sweat_.

“God, Maya, you’re—” he loses his thought, and his mouth is like fire against her throat. She bears it to him, lets and allows, adoring the rough feeling of his beard against her neck. The way he nips at her skin, sucks against the underside of her jaw; she should stop him, but she doesn’t want to. It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast, but she would be remiss to say she didn’t want this with every fiber of her being.

His hand drags down the length of her waist, against her ass, and when he hooks one of her legs over his hip, she can feel him, hard against the lowest part of her belly. It’s not like she’s doing any better, flooding her panties, shifting her hips to feel him better, to rub herself against him.

“ _Ryan_ ,” she whispers—and suddenly she comes back to herself, clarity in the haze of all this lust. The grip his has on her thigh is going to bruise and it excites her. She’s never felt like this before.

“What—do you want to stop?” he murmurs against her neck, pressing a gentle kiss to her throat before pulling back.

She could say yes. Yes, because they’re in Ryan’s childhood bedroom, his parents down the hall. Yes, because they didn’t lock the door. Yes, because it’s been hours since they said anything about feelings and _sex_ ruins everything.

But she says no. No, because she wants him. No, because he looks at her, had enough sense to ask in the first place. No, because she wants him. (She said that already, but it’s _that_ much). No, because he touches his hand to her braid, tugs the tie from the end, and lets the braid come undone.

“I don’t like it like that,” he says. “I wanna put my fingers in it.”

The thrill that shivers down her spine sweeps any sense she has out of her mind cause she wants him so badly she’s willing to risk all they’d built for it, for just a little bit of a taste.

“ _Ryan_ ,” she says, and it feels like she’s saying his name a lot, but she doesn’t know what else to say most of the time. “ _Cariño_.” He leans in to kiss her, chaste, gentle, like he’s reassuring her. And she doesn’t know what to do. But she’s got a leg over his hip, he’s hard against her, and her hair is undone, and—

“We don’t have to do anything,” he says. His fingers begin to leave their place on her thigh, but she reaches for his hand, keeps it there.

“I know. I _know_ , but—I just want you so much, we just have to be _quiet_. The door and the walls, and—”

Ryan’s laughing against her mouth, quiet.

“You think it’s funny, but it’s not,” she says.

“Babe,” he says. “I’m not going to do anything to you if I can’t do it properly.”

Maya groans against his chest, reveling in the way he smells, how he feels.

“I want to, God, I want to,” he says, hooking a finger under her chin. He kisses her like he really, really wants to. “But I want to hear you. Wanna see you. The whole bit.”

“You’re gonna kill me, oh _God_ ,” she says, laughing against his chest.

“And I want this to happen right. I wanna take you out, wanna take you home.” His voice is gentle, but it drops low, and Maya’s buzzing out of her skin. “Wanna make you feel good.”

She can’t argue—how can she? 

“Just stop _talking_ ,” she mutters.

Ryan’s laughing beside her, and she loves it, adores it, can’t wait for it to just—keep going. When they get back home. She hopes it’s just as easy.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, and they shift; she settles against him, practically wrapped around him, but he doesn’t seem to mind; he kisses her forehead. 

:::

Ryan feels disoriented when he wakes up. He’s facing the door, which isn’t how he remembers falling asleep, but he must have shifted; Maya’s pressed against his back, deliciously warm. Her breath is hot against the nape of his neck, and when he moves, she rouses, fingers skating over his stomach.

“Hey,” he says, and she pulls him in tighter.

“Hi.”

“You sleep okay?”

He can feel her nod against him. “You?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a lot hanging in the air; he could pluck any one thing and say it. “I don’t want to get up,” he settles.

“So, don’t,” she murmurs, lips pressing against shoulder. “Come kiss me.”

So, he does, with languor only morning could offer. And they lay like that, pressed against each other, just kissing.

“This is real right?” he whispers against her mouth. He pulls back, tucking her long hair behind her ear.

“Hmm?” her eyes flutter open, and she’s looking at him like—like of course it’s real.

“This,” he says. “We’re gonna go back home and you’re still going to like me?”

Maya purses her lips. “Like—like maybe it’s all just Christmas magic?”

Ryan nods.

“It feels real to me,” she says. “I think that’s good enough. We can figure out the rest when we get home.”

Ryan thinks carefully about what he wants to say; there’s the taste of a specific emotion on the tip of his tongue.

And he knows what Maya feels for him, he does. But he’s so new to her, new to seeing her like this; the sleep soft curve of her smile, the way she blinks up at him, the curl of her hair against the column of her neck.

He’s new to these details, but he thinks he can save the heaviness of the words he wants to say for later, for when he’s memorized the look in her eyes when she’s pissed at him. When he knows the furrow of her brow and the glare of her irises; when things get hard and a little rough and they’re whispering sorrys to each other after they’ve argued.

He’ll save those words when they’re home and she’s wearing his sweatshirt for the millionth time and his heart pounds in his chest like it’s the first time he’s seen her in it, at the office when he stands in the background and watches her film, taking sips of each other’s coffees in the breakroom.

For when she’s sitting on his lap even though there are plenty of other seats to choose from.

He’ll save those words for when they walk on the beach, and grab lunch from the food truck, for when they sit in LA traffic with the windows rolled down because they thought it would be cute to just go for a drive.

He’ll just save the words for when she inevitably sings him to sleep again, with the luscious curl of her voice around the ventricles of his heart.

“I have a few words for you,” he says softly. “I can’t say them yet, but I will, cause I know how I feel isn’t going to go away. But I have a few words.”

He watches Maya’s face with rapt attention, the way she inhales so sharp, blinking as she looks away from him, up at the ceiling. “A few words,” she echoes.

“Yeah,” he whispers. He traces his fingers over the hot blush of her cheeks.

Her eyes are soft, brown, and very, very beautiful when they look at him. “Okay. I have a few words for you, too.”

Maya’s positively beaming underneath him, biting down on her lip. Ryan can’t help but lean in and untangle her teeth from her lip with his kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> come check me out on [tumblr](https://businessbabybergara.tumblr.com)!! thank you for reading!


End file.
